


In Service to Questions

by mirwalker



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-05
Updated: 2008-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirwalker/pseuds/mirwalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A planetary evacuation becomes the backdrop for investigations of genocide, murder and espionage, as the Enterprise herself becomes a silent killer's next weapon and target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Timeline Note:** These events take place between _ST:TNG_ episodes "Sarek" and "Ménage à Troi" at the end of Season Three.
> 
> * * *

The cold winds on Bareazi II snap viciously around the peaks of the nameless northern mountains. Gusts up to 250kph whip through the rugged passes and gaping valleys. Temperatures crest near 170 degrees Kelvin, before the wind-chill factor is calculated. Bare rock, itself frozen through, provides little respite from the gale or cold. The remainder of the climate and landscape is equally as uninviting. To most...

From within the mountain, a mind reached out, followed by a mittened hand and then promptly by the plump body to which it was attached. The small figure braced itself against the winds instantly, almost to no avail; and halted on the narrow shelf just clear of the rocky, snow-covered slope.

On the far edge of the ledge, a solitary figure stood silently, its dark cloaks whipping about in the wind. It seemed oblivious to the gales that threatened to drag it from its perch. It ignored also the calls from the other.

That Other inched forward, slowed by his fear of being blown away—literally. Carefully, so as not to upset his own fragile stability, the Other reached out his hand again toward the dark figure's layered cloaks—and was thrown immediately against the same mountainside through which he had just passed.

An insulted and enraged presence immediately screamed in his mind. Raw anger ravaged through his thoughts, overriding and burning through all that was his own. His sight and other senses blurred, despite an instinctive mental effort to maintain himself. He groped to weakly respond as the encroaching gray in his consciousness began to numb the pain.

The dark figure turned in place, facing the Other for the first time. It advanced purposefully and effortlessly, seeming not to suffer from or worry about the winds. As it moved, it allowed the Other to slide slowly down the slope, while it slowly removed its emotions from his fragile mind.

The Other came to rest in a heap at its feet, shivering from cold, fright and pain. The dark figure observed dispassionately as he struggled to gather his thoughts and energies to stand. Feigning a faster recovery than it actually was making, the Other silently grunted indignantly.

From deep in the folds of its dark cloak, the hooded figure cast a coldly condescending glance at the small creature before it. It sneered silently—insulted by the presumption to approach, by the doubts and by the mere presence of the Other. It finally held an arm aloft and pointed out an area of the sky.

Confused and still recovering from the mental onslaught, the Other stared blankly at the shadowy figure towering above him. Finally realizing he was not being threatened or dismissed, but directed, the Other glanced up across the starfield, noting nothing in particular.

Suddenly there was a bright flash in one far corner, just above the horizon. A spray of light poured forth from one of the specks of light, seeming to consume those around it. For a moment it gleamed; and then faded quickly. When it was gone, the pinpoint from which it had originated had also vanished—as if it had never been there.

The Other rose slowly, unsure of exactly what he had just witnessed, but sure that it was not a pleasant thing. He backed away, staggering back into the mountain, leaving the dark one alone with the elements.

As it returned to the brink of the precipice, the dark one stared at the sky, contemplating the recent, distant destruction. It simultaneously caressed a mind far from the icy mountain. New emotions flowed from its mind: joy, anticipation, a sense of ends and beginnings—as well as the primal anger that underlay it all.

Inside the mountain, the Other moaned with anguish as these feelings swept to him; but the dark figure paid no heed. In fact, it laughed aloud—the first sound to break the silence previously disturbed only by the howl of the winds.

Morning was far from coming on Bareazi II. In the still dark sky, a star had died; and under the same lonely heavens the surface conditions redefined freezing: a perfect locale. For the dark figure was quite warm. Inside it burned.


	2. Chapter 2

"Understood, _Inchcape_ ; we're on our way." Captain Jean-Luc Picard turned away from the wall-sized viewscreen to face the android at his right side, "Commander Data, begin going over the _Inchcape's_ transmission." To the navigation officer on his opposite side, he issued his third order of the shift, "Best speed to the Pirim System, Mr. Crusher."

On command, the mighty starship rolled to starboard and vanished slingshot into the distance, now on course to the distant cluster of planets. Its Captain, too, turned to yet another pressing matter at hand. Addressing the bearded officer sitting in his customary place in front of the horseshoe of Tactics, he calmly ordered, "Number One, senior staff meeting in ten minutes."

* * *

Sparks were flying in Sickbay. Disassembled instrumentation, faceless monitors and empty cargo crates were scattered everywhere. In the midst of the chaos, Selar stood quietly. The stoic Vulcan doctor watched each of the eleven mustard-clad technicians as they carried out the medical upgrade.

She paused her observation as the doors behind her parted, returning her gaze to the workers when she saw who was entering. The _Enterprise's_ Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher and Chief Engineer Geordi LaForge waded into the confusion, paying no heed to her or to the equipment lying around them, until...

Crusher stopped dead in her tracks. "Wait!? FORTY-EIGHT hours!?" She turned to face him, finding that he'd continued on past her to look over a technician's shoulder. "Geordi, you told me THIRTY hours—tops!"

The blind engineer patted his crewwoman's shoulder and turned to face the ship's Surgeon, "That's the time it will take to actually install the hardware. The clean-up and reprogramming will take a little longer."

Crusher began to counter; but was cut off by a calm, but urgent voice over the ship's internal intercom, "Senior Staff report to the Observation Lounge immediately. Senior Staff report to the Observation Lounge immediately."

Geordi gave her his best "I'm sorry—should've explained better—nothing I can do about it now" shrug, and headed back toward the door.

Crusher threw up her hands in accession and joined him in his departure. "Alright, Mr. LaForge; but you owe me. And I know exactly how you can repay me." He glanced at her warily as she took him by the arm. Smiling her most innocuous smile, she led him into the corridor, humming.

* * *

"...Besides, whose mother sent her valet to get us?" Both ship's Counselor Deanna Troi and her female guest laughed as they came into Ten Forward. Arm-in-arm, they continued through the crowded bar to an empty table near the window. In the midst of the constant, but low, hum of many friendly and a few very friendly conversations, they sat in silence, staring out the into the starfield; until Troi began giggling again. Her friend joined her promptly.

"Tim, we made a great team back then, didn't we?" half-asked Troi.

"Back then? We still do; we're the two best Counselors in Starfleet," her friend responded. Again, they broke into laughter.

"Well, can I get the 'two best Counselors in the Fleet' something to drink?" asked a third voice, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Guinan," remarked Troi, long since accustomed to the hostess' uncanny knack for sudden appearances. "I'd like you to meet Counselor Timin Caid from the _USS Gessick_. She's a good friend from University."

"A pleasure to meet you, Guinan," the visiting Betazoid spoke first as they shook hands. "Dee's told me a lot about you."

Looking surprised, Guinan asked rhetorically, "She did, did she? Well, all true, I'm sure." She smiled, looking away in false modesty, then turned back to join them in yet another round of laughter. Quickly back to her duty, she asked again, "So what can I get you?"

"I think I'll have a..." began the half-Betazoid.

The in-ship intercom cut her off, "Senior staff report to the Observation Lounge immediately. Senior staff report to the Observation Lounge immediately."

Troi dutifully stood to leave. "...I'll have a raincheck. I'm sorry. Timin..."

"Will be fine," interrupted Guinan, sliding into Troi's now empty seat. "She and I will just have a little chat."

Troi smiled knowingly, but nervously, at them both before she headed out the door. Guinan smiled too, in her own way, and began her interrogation. "So, you and 'Dee' have been friends for a while?"

* * *

The _USS Inchcape_ fired a full volley of photon torpedoes and banked port. As the _Miranda_ -class starship pulled away, six miniature stars dispersed themselves into an orderly and efficient line, and homed in on their targets.

On the main bridge, the viewscreen's image changed from the forward-peering stars just in time to see the explosion of the anti-matter weapons' impacting, destructively, several thousand kilometers behind the ship. Captain Alexandra Delmas allowed herself a silent sigh of relief at the apparent success; but as an experienced officer, she knew better than to go entirely on appearances. Needing firmer evidence than mere perception, she turned to the bridge station just behind and to the right of her command chair.

The bald Science Officer was still peering into the multiple sensor displays that covered his computer console. As if on cue, he lifted his head, tapped a few final control pads and turned to give a report to his Commanding Officer, "Direct hits; targets destroyed, Captain." Checking his monitors again, he continued his analysis, "The asteroids should pose no further threat to the planet or to us."

The entire bridge crew breathed an audible sigh of relief; this opponent was vanquished. But elsewhere, there were many foes remaining, "Good shots, Mr. Smith. And now, Mr. Nguyen, get us back to 'Talphia, ASAP."

"Aye, Captain." answered the helm officer. "ETA at three-quarter imp..."

The bridge went pitch black and the deck seemed to jump two meters in the z-axis—neither event boded well to a crew already long since on edge.

"Lights," calmly ordered Delmas as she pulled herself back into her chair. Seconds passed as the other bridge officers gained their bearings, one of them enough to find the correct control. Delmas glanced around quickly as the room filled with light, inspecting each officer in turn. Noting the helm officer obviously favoring her left arm, she moved toward her, asking as she moved, "Status, Mr. Gesnard?"

The junior-most member of the bridge crew, still apparently shaken from the jolt, poured over the displays in front of him. Slowly, he seemed to make sense of the many read-outs on his console, "Um, spotty power outages ship-wide, turbolifts are down; and, uh, several injuries among the evacuees. None serious."

"Bridge, this is Gray Oak," called a voice out apparently from mid-air, more accurately from Engineering. "I don't know who's driving; but I'd appreciate a little more attention to the potholes."

"Very funny, Peter," returned the Captain. "What can you do about these power losses?"

"Give me a few minutes; I'm working on it."

"Sir," broke in the Tactical Officer, "Security reports that several of the refugees are hysterical; and that the panic's spreading."

"Great," sighed the rapidly aging CO. "Delmas to Commander Salee," she called into thin air.

"Salee here," replied the _Inchcape's_ First Officer immediately.

"Massoud, sorry about the bump; no major worry. But please see what you can do for the 'Talphians. We've got our hands full up here."

"I'll be happy to, Captain," came the none-too-energetic response. "Salee out."

"He's a saint," Delmas to no one in particular as she gently massaged the helmswoman's forearm looking for the source of her discomfort. At the same time, she set to work on another problem. "Mr. Ilurr, what in Cochrane's name was that …that speed bump?"

The lithe Deltan had long since resumed his seat at the massive science console and was busily going over the multiple displays before him. Unfortunately, there was very little for him to peruse, as only a few of the screens were operating. "It would appear that my station is inoperative at the moment, Captain. I would guess, however, that we passed through, or perhaps were struck by, one of the spatial anomalies that the instability of the system's sun continues to produce."

"Well," said the dark-skinned Commanding Officer, gently cradling the injured arm of her helmswoman, "Let's get your station working again; and we'll have to keep a closer eye out for those energy pockets in the future."

"Aye, sir."

"And you, Ms. Khet, need to see a medic about this arm."

"Really, I'm fine, Captain."

"Are you questioning my abilities as a medical officer, Lieutenant?" she prodded, half-seriously.

"No, sir. I'm challenging your engineering abilities. I can't see a medic now; the turbolifts aren't working. Right, Jacques?"

"What? Oh. Yea. I mean, no; no, they're not," stammered the Ops officer, staring blankly at his controls.

"Besides," continued Nguyen, "who's going to take the Conn? You, sir?"

Delmas harrumphed and feigned her best hurt pride. "Yes, actually. At least long enough for Ilurr to have a look at your arm." She added emphasis to her quasi-order by shooing the young woman from her post, toward the Science station. "It's been too long since I had the pleasure of being behind the wheel anyway," continued Delmas to herself as she ran her hands across the navigational controls. "One-half impulse to 'Talphia, aye sir," she chuckled as the lights flickered above her, surely in response to adjustments being made in the main reactor room several decks away.

On this deck, behind the pilot-Captain, Khet Nguyen crossed the bridge to the Science station, where the Lt. Commander gave up his seat to her. Kneeling in front of her, he gently ran his hand over her damaged limb, asking quietly where it hurt. Once the troubled spot had been identified, he placed one hand palm down over it, and stretched the other up to firmly plant his fingers on her cheek.

He closed his eyes and seemed to slip away as he increased the pressure he was exerting with both hands. Nguyen whimpered slightly—in response to which Ilurr shuddered—but quieted as relief replaced the pain on her face. As she continued to relax, the Deltan's body stiffened, filling, as it were, with what the human was losing.

The bridge lighting gave out completely as a pair of young eyes at Ops looked on the pair at Sciences, with a look best described as cold, enraged, but purposeful, fury.

"Emergency lights," calmly order Delmas, for the second time in an hour.

As the dim light filled the command center, Ilurr broke his contact with Nguyen and stood. He took advantage of the sudden illumination to wipe a tear from his eye and flex his fingers as everyone's eyes adjusted. For her part, Nguyen slowly opened her eyes and played with her arm. Feeling it move without discomfort, she smiled broadly; and her expression showered praise on her standing comrade. He helped her up and quietly suggested, "You still need to see a medic; I've just stopped the pain, not healed the injury."

"Thank you," she whispered as she moved away; and he took his seat.

"Turbolifts are working," cried an all too happy voice from the rear of the bridge.

Delmas didn't even turn to greet the new arrival, "Bergen, that had better not be the only good news you have to share with us."

"Well," began the human male, sidestepping the helmswoman as she entered the turbolift, "Afternoon, Ms. Nguyen."

"Hello, Counselor," she returned.

He continued to his bridge station, where years before the Communication Officer would have been, and continued his sentence. "We're not the height of popularity with the evacuees; but they've calmed down considerably." Then, noticing the Captain was not seated in her customary position as he propped his feet up on the console beside him, he added, "I should have guessed you were the one who cut that corner too close back there. How much did you have to pay Khet to let you drive?"

Delmas swiveled around to face him. "Very cute, Nich." His boyish face and ultra-relaxed posture, however, weren't that cute to her. Not when coupled with friendly insults. She could play that game too. Affecting her best passive aggressive expression, she began to chide, "I'll have you know..."

Suddenly though, Dr. Nicholas Bergen shot upright from his chair, every ounce of frivolity draining from his face. "Ilurr. Get up. Stand up NOW!"

Delmas, taken back by Bergen's sudden change in tone and position, hesitated before spinning her seat toward the Science station. The sight that greeted her when she finally did so brought her to her feet.

The Deltan officer had obeyed his instruction to rise, though not consciously. He stood at his station, hands firmly in place on the console, and convulsed uncontrollably as snapping bands of energy danced around him. A high-pitched whine seemed to come from his open mouth; but it could just as easily have originated in the computers around him as they burst and popped under the tremendous beating a power surge was giving them. An acrid smoke billowed from both the workstation and its operator—yet another signal of their joint demise.

Neither Bergen nor Delmas, however, was waiting to see which victim gave up first. The Captain pushed her way past a hastily retreating Ops Officer as the ship's Counselor rounded the bridge's raised perimeter, stripping off his duty jacket. "Smith, get a medic up here," bellowed Delmas as she tossed the young navigation ensign aside.

Unhindered by such obstacles, Bergen reached the rigid Science Officer first. Well-trained in emergency procedures, well empowered by adrenaline and well-motivated by his friend's obvious torture, he grabbed his tunic by the sleeve cuffs, moved in as close as he could and whirled the garment over Ilurr's head. While Delmas stabbed at the power kill switch for the station, Bergen waited for the jacket to fall around the Deltan's chest and then yanked it, Ilurr and all, away from the sparking console.

The extraordinarily pale empath fell to the floor, continuing to twitch as residual charges crackled across his body. Above him, the _Inchcape's_ CO managed to tap the control that shut off power to the console and began foaming the charred area to extinguish any remaining danger.

At the rear of the room, the turbolift doors opened and a medical technician slammed into a mustard-clad ensign trying to enter. Stumbling over the young officer, the medic immediately saw her Captain and shirtless Counselor kneeling near the Science station. She gently pushed them both aside, readied a hypospray of neural stimulant and ran her tricorder over the now still body.

Bergen and Delmas stepped back to watch in silence. They heard the scanning device emit a high-pitched, continuous tone as it swept across Ilurr. They observed as the med tech applied the hissing medicine, and shuddered as the scanner's sound remained unchanged. Their vigilance was ended as the young woman finally set down her instruments, let out an exasperated breath and slowly pulled the blue tunic over the face of the _Inchcape's_ former Science Officer.

As the medic stood and stepped away, Bergen began chanting a dirge in his friend's native tongue; and Delmas turned on her heels and headed for the turbolift. Unable to contain herself any longer under the pressures of rescue duty and the death her fellow officer and friend at her feet, she sobbed to the solemn Tactical Officer, "Erik, get some replacement officers up here; you have the bridge," and was gone.

As Tactical Officer and current Officer of the Deck Erik Smith moved to help the medic prepare the body for transport to Sickbay, Bergen staggered down to the Captain's chair and collapsed into it. His head and heart swam, not with sorrow as he had anticipated, but instead with emptiness. A chill crept up his spine as he stared blankly at the stormy planet approaching on the viewscreen. The cold permeated him through; and he shivered outright as a presence welled up from the center of his frozen self. Mortal fear racked his body and a single name howled in all his senses: "Lauren."


	3. Chapter 3

"Those were conditions as of an hour ago," stated the balding starship Captain as he deactivated the visual display on the wall and turned to address his collected officers. "I can only assume that the situation has not improved much since." As he spoke, he walked the length of the table, past the windows full of streaking stars, to take his customary place at the assembly's head. "The _Isador_ and the _Latting_ are also en route; but will only beat us there by two and nine hours, respectively. Starfleet Command is scrambling to find additional assistance; but for the moment we are all there is. Comments?"

Dr. Crusher, though deeply touched by the pitiful sights she had just seen, was quick to bring her faculties to bear on the situation from her position and perspective. "How long until we arrive?"

The _Enterprise's_ First Officer, Will Riker sat forward, indicating that he would field this question. "We've just increased our speed to warp 9.4; and that cut three hours off the trip." Everyone at the table knew from his voice that the direct answer, yet unspoken, was not particularly encouraging. "But, we're still looking at an ETA to transporter range of sixteen hours."

Crusher instantly fired an accusingly look in LaForge's direction. He reacted just as quickly, standing as if on cue and headed for the door. He shouted his apology over his shoulder as he entered the corridor, "Sorry, Captain, I've got three days of work to do in less than one!" He continued as the doors slid shut behind him, "LaForge to Engineering Teams Four and Seven, report to Sickbay..."

Crusher quickly stifled a smug grin/grimace; and turned back to the table the vision of cool professionalism. "Even with Sickbay back to one hundred percent, it's going to take a lot more space than that to handle a planet's worth of casualties. I'll need rec decks, shuttle bays, guest quarters, maybe even the Holodecks."

"That's to be expected, Doctor," agreed Picard. "You are, of course, free to utilize any space, equipment and personnel you require." Crusher nodded in concurrence and gratitude.

Data, however, stepped in to fill the Chief Engineer's vacant shoes in the discussion, injecting, "Sir, I must point out that, due to the erratic energy fields and frequent pulses in the system, use of transporters would be extremely dangerous. Despite danger of debris from the destroyed inner planets, evacuation by shuttles would be more advisable."

"And that," interrupted Crusher, despondently, "requires use of the shuttle bays."

"Yes, Doctor," flatly stated the android. "The evacuees will need to be housed elsewhere." She did not appear pleased. Hoping to remove the sting of his observation, he offered, "You may use my quarters if..."

"Thank you, Data," half-laughed the physician, "It might come to that…"

"Commander," broke in Picard—amused to see the mutual conciliation and affirmation going on at the far end of the table, but more interested in the crisis at hand. "You and Lieutenant Worf will be in charge of the actual evacuation planetside. You'll need to coordinate our efforts with Fleet-Captain Ranca on the _Isador_." Both officers nodded in acknowledgement.

"And, Counselor," added the Captain, swiveling to face the empath, "the unenviable task of helping the evacuees adjust and cope once we have them aboard falls to you."

If Troi felt any pressure from the immense task before her, she showed none of it. She appeared quite the opposite of daunted, in fact. "With your permission, a friend of mine, Timin Caid, is visiting me. She is ship's Counselor aboard the _Gessick_ ; and I'm sure she wouldn't mind pitching in."

"Consider her vacation cancelled, Counselor," instructed Picard—making official the presumption that the Starfleet officer would do her duty even away from her assigned station. "Please feel free to make use of any other properly trained personnel on board as well."

He glanced around the table for other concerns; and finding none, brought up his own. "Well, with the evacuees taken care of in advance, I think it prudent that we turn our attention to how they became refugees to begin with. Mr. Data, any hypotheses?"

The android cocked his head to one side, his trademark sign of internal processing. "The information provided by the _Inchcape_ clearly indicates that the Kedicatalphian sun, Pirim, experienced some cataclysmic internal instability which resulted in its detonation. Pirim had no history of volatility; and there were no apparent forewarnings."

Knowing full well that he had not answered the question asked him, Data spared his audience the additional, superfluous, though personally fascinating, details, and cut to the point. "There are several plausible explanations; but I would prefer to have additional information, from on-site observation, before speculating."

"As you wish, Data. I'd like you and Commander LaForge to continue analyzing all the _Inchcape's_ transmissions. The more information we have when we arrive..."

Picard was interrupted by the chirp of his communicator. Allowing his unfinished truism to complete itself, he tapped the insignia on his chest, "Picard here."

"An incoming subspace message for you from Starfleet Command."

"Understood, Mr. Goodwin; I'm on my way." He looked out across his comrades, and brought the briefing to a sudden, but graceful close, "We all have work to do; let's get to it. Dismissed."

* * *

Starfleet Command's confirmation orders to the _Enterprise's_ ranking officer set the entire ship in motion. As a self-contained city of one thousand plus beings, the forty-two decks of the massive starship were never truly quiet. Three standing duty shifts, and the various swing assignments kept many areas staffed 'round the chronometer; the Bridge, Sickbay and Main Engineering, for example, were never without at least a skeleton crew of specialists. Other spaces, like science labs, service shops and cargo holds had standard hours of operation, typically alpha shift, depending on the particular mission needs or project deadlines. But even beyond these times and locations, that same crew and their families occupied the bulk of the spaceframe with their quarters and crew support services, such as recreational areas (real and holo-), communal galleys and youth and continuing education centers.

Main Shuttlebay, the largest single space in the entire ship, echoed with the snaps, whines, clanks and shouts of crews working on almost every shuttle in the ship's complement. Every auxiliary craft on the ship capable of traveling to and from a planet's surface under its own power was being readied to do just that. The shuttles in Bays Two and Three would be moved to Main as soon as the ship dropped from warp at its destination, to make room for refugees. Even the captain's yacht would be pressed into evacuation service, but would be using its dedicated dock under the primary hull saucer. And it was the Shuttle Operations (ShOp) Officer's responsibility to see that each of these thirty-seven varied craft were ready—a responsibility that Lt. Cmdr. Tamish Hohtbé' took very seriously.

Although all small craft certified pilots onboard reported directly to the First Officer, their vehicles, support services and spaces, and their crafts' movements were entirely hers. While she and her crews, of course, kept the ship's small fleet of shuttles and workbees in constant readiness, Hohtbé's people were double-checking everything, rigging them for the harsh climate conditions at the destination, stripping them down to make space for additional passengers, and loading them with supplies to be delivered in the first wave of planetside landings. Not content with even that large order, she also had her best crew assembling two additional shuttles from the extra modular spaceframes and spare components kept aboard for repairs. Though they wouldn't be ready on arrival, they would follow soon thereafter and add an additional forty heads per roundtrip to the evacuation fleet's capacity.

The freed parts storage space, in addition to all the space left as supplies were delivered to the surface, also augmented to the ship's passenger load as well. The ship's Quartermaster, responsible for coordinating all supplies and materials aboard the _Enterprise_ , had already accounted for this change in ship's inventory and planned for the use of the space so cleared. Lt. T'Sem stood in her office overlooking Main Shuttlebay, mentally estimating time of completion for the two partially assembled shuttlecraft at one side of the cavernous space. Turning back to her wall of displays, she entered the figures into her PADD, instigating a cascade of color changes on the cutaway drawings and on the weight distribution tallies. She noted each change, and transmitted adjusted cargo transfer orders to handlers all over the ship in order to bring work efforts in line with the corrected timetable.

She and her stevedores were usually this busy only when entering, in and leaving a port. At those times, as with this, they were responsible to the Chief Engineer for the loading, off-loading and distributing as evenly as possible the massive weight of all the material on but not actually part of the ship. Though 'weightless' in space as a whole, the ship and its content always had mass, a physical reality most easily and safely propelled to faster than light speeds when evenly distributed across the ship's volume. While the starship's physical structure and supporting structural integrity fields (SIF) handled its immensity in stride, efficiency was best when no one area of the ship was heavier than another. Even the smallest variations stressed the frame and required great quantities of SIF energy to balance out—energy that could be better used elsewhere.

Beyond tracking and literally balancing the tons and tons of materials across the ship, T'Sem and her crews had also been given the task of replicating any additional materials they could for deployment on the planet; they were making cargo even as they moved existing stores. Although assisted by centuries of cargo handling experience passed down among many races from eons of land, sea, air and space transport, and by the sophisticated software systems used to measure and manage the loads, the task before them was as significant as it was sizable.

Beyond the inanimate solid, liquid and gaseous cargo, and the molecular materials held in energy suspension, yet another form of matter was being managed across the ship. Under orders from the Executive Officer, Personnel Development, the department charged with coordinating services that support the health, well being and growth of everyone on board, began consolidating crew services. The activities scheduled in ship's classrooms, gyms, auditoria, and multi-purpose spaces were postponed, consolidated or canceled outright, freeing these scattered spaces for supply storage and refugee habitation. At the same time, substitute activities were arranged, internal comm system entertainment and educational programs were queued, and rainchecks issues for missed appointments and lost timeslots. The complete dedication of the ship to the transport of refugees meant that the regular inhabitants would have to do without some amenities for the time being; but substitutes and distractions would help them cope, and hopefully prevent their inconveniences from becoming additional headaches during the hectic evacuation.

Watching all these movements, Lt Worf stood at one end of Internal Security—a cramped suite deep in the ship from which all aspects of security were monitored, coordinated and/or directly controlled. It had ready access to all security related systems and areas, such as the primary armory, internal sensors, and Triple F (Forcefield, Fire suppression, and Firearm) control systems. Only the ship's brig was not represented directly, as having prisoners housed at their keepers' headquarters was not seen as prudent… just in case they somehow escaped the escape-proof holding cells.

He gazed sternly at the wall of video display units and sensor read-outs, as number of other mustard-clad security officers hurried about issuing computer instructions and confirming completion of automatic functions. As he watched, and under his staff's supervision, entire sections of the ship were searched, scanned and sealed off—with physical doors and containment walls, with forcefields and/or with both. As hospitable as the starship would be to its imminent passengers, there were a number of places that were not safe or appropriate for guests to visit. And with fifteen thousand visitors expected, there was no way even the best-trained security staff and the most state-of-the-art sensor surveillance system could keep absolute track of every single one. Worf and his staff would take no chances, and so they secured sensitive areas for everyone's benefit.

On the bridge, the ship's android Operations Manager, the XO and CO coordinated all these efforts and more in order to maximize the amounts of goods and services to be delivered to the refugees, the volume of space available to house those same evacuees on the ship, and the level of efficiency with which this all would happen. With the _Enterprise_ racing toward the dying planet, every moment counted and so was used wisely.

At one edge of the main viewscreen, a somber column of data painted the picture of what awaited them on their arrival at Kedicatalphia. Based on real-time information from local and Starfleet sources, the total planetary population of nearly 30 million sat unmoving atop the string of moving figures. Below that total, the number of life signs remaining slowly ticked down toward 6 million, as more and more inhabitants passed beyond the help of those rushing to assist. Next, the total number of persons space-lifted rose slowly as each rescue craft rose from the surface to deliver its load of survivors to safety; this number did not move swiftly enough, but would speed up on the arrival of _Enterprise_ and others speeding to the rescue.


	4. Chapter 4

Kedicatalphia hadn't been a particularly warm planet to begin with. Its people, architecture and general culture were well suited to the long, harsh winters created by its distance from its sun. It was that same distance that had protected the planet from immediate destruction when that same sun had almost completely collapsed more than two days earlier. Still, the virtual loss of even that distant source light and heat, not to mention the resulting energy waves that slammed past, had plunged the hardy planet into a dark freeze far worse than any winter on record.

Beyond the intense cold, quakes and tremors wracked the planet as its tectonic plates flexed and snapped under the initial and after-shocks. In opposition to, but equally destructive as the extreme cold, volcanic eruptions, visible from space, lit some areas of the surface where the crust had given way to the disrupted molten undercurrents below them. Their dust and water vapor releases added to the dropping temperature by blocking still more of the vastly decreased sunlight available. What little surface water there had been, had ravaged coastal areas in the initial extreme tides, and had since frozen or evaporated completely as the entire planet broke down. Fire and ice played across the skies and surface of the little world in its death throes. And conditions were only getting worse…

Lt. Worf hardly needed the tricorder to confirm that it was, in fact, getting colder. He checked the seals on his thermal jacket, and headed back to the village square where evacuation shuttles were loading. He picked his way through the toppled walls, and past the frozen plume of water from the shattered, once-underground pipeline. He imagined his favorite magma baths holo-program in a vain effort to warm himself against the howling winds—only a few more stragglers and they'd be able to return to the ship.

He barely heard the chirp of his communicator through the roar of the winds, and only because it was accompanied by the vibration of that same communicator under his jacket. Activating that feature had smartly been his idea. He tapped his jacket, and acknowledged, "Worf here."

"This is Data," screamed the top volume setting. "Please join me two blocks east of your present location. I am just south of the crushed red skimmer."

Worf headed toward the unique landmark, choosing not to cut through the shattered storefront lest it fall in on him. Teeth chattering in the blowing snow, he joined his shipmate, who was crouched behind a pile of rubble. The extreme cold had convinced even the android to don a thermal jacket, though he did not wear the hood up. Worf envied his stamina, and relished that the small space was protected from the wind by the destruction around it.

Data was squatting next to a dull green, lightly frosted body—a 'Talphian in early stages of freezing solid.

"I happened to note her organic signature amid the metals of this structure. Her body shows no sign of external trauma; she was not killed in the building's collapse," observed Data coldly.

Worf had seen many bodies in the wreckage of this civilization over the past hours, but not one as out of place as this one. He scanned her and their immediate vicinity with his tricorder. "Her lack of clothing would suggest death from exposure, but lack of snow accumulation against her and her coloring indicate that she has not been dead long. Her hearts appear to be burst—not typical for hypothermia."

"Most unusual. The Captains will want us to investigate further; we should not wait for the possibility of later retrieval." Data removed a blanket from his equipment bag, and covered the body. "Assist me in carrying her to the evacuation site."

Together they wrapped the stiff form in the blanket, and gently carried her through the rubble toward the square and the last shuttle from this city. With a planet dying around them, and its people seeking refuge in the starships above, the mysteries here could directly affect them there. And given the scale of the recent destruction, neither officer was willing to take chances with his own home.

Above them, the lights of another evacuation shuttle slipped skyward.

* * *

The exhausted pilot had once thought of the Type 6 shuttles as cramped. Built for a maximum of eight people, and now crammed with more than twenty, he revised his earlier view profanely. Fortunately, the _Latting_ was not far away, and he'd get a short breather while empty on the return trip to the surface. At least the shivering passengers were quiet—most were still in shock, and stared quietly into nowhere, or huddled with surviving friends and family.

But this one, who'd wriggled her way to the front, gazed fixedly on the starships and shuttles swarming before them. Already unsettled by grim task of rescuing a species from its own planet, he found her intense observation downright creepy. Luckily…

"Shuttle _Andes_ , this is _Latting_ shuttle operations. You are cleared for initial approach to Shuttlebay Three."

"Understood _Latting_ ; _Andes_ preparing approach." The _Excelsior_ -class _Isador_ slid past, and the _Galaxy_ -class _Enterprise_ loomed close as the shuttle adjusted to slip past the _Nebula_ -class _Latting's_ 'pod' toward one of its smaller shuttle bays.

The odd one glanced briefly at him, and then back out at the approaching ships. Somewhere in the mass of refugees, a soft moan welled up.

"We're almost there," tried the pilot reassuringly. Just a little longer, he thought and wished.

The initial moan was joined by others, and they quickly became shrieks as various refugees began writhing and convulsing—panicking those not exhibiting the same behavior. Quickly the entire load of refugees, except one, were screaming and clawing at one another or the shuttle walls despite the pilot's shouts of encouragement.

" _Andes_ to _Latting_ control. I am declaring emergency. Request priority landing! Stop it! Calm down!"

"Shuttle _Andes_ , this is _Enterprise_ control. We are closer, and have an open berth. Proceed to our main shuttle bay for tractor landing."

"Understood, _Enterprise_. Request medical and security teams to greet us; they've all gone crazy!"

The chaos reached an audible plateau as the pilot fought shoving bodies and grabbing hands to guide the shuttle toward the gaping, open doors of the cavernous saucer-section shuttlebay. The strange one stood quietly, watching their bumpy glide inside—more patient with the quieting throng than was the pilot.

* * *

"Your family name and address?" was followed quickly by a stream of guttural tones and gurgles as the tricorder made the brief interview possible across language lines. It was slower with the more complicated response, but recognized enough to automatically enter the information in the evacuation roster. It rewarded both speakers for their patience with a cheerful whistle and parade of lights.

"Your third husband and youngest son have checked in aboard the _Latting_. We will reunite you as soon as possible," offered acting ensign Wesley Crusher to the relieved Kedicatalphian before him. "Right now, I need you to wear this identification pin at all times, so we can find you to go to them. Please follow the green lights to your temporary accommodations; food and fresh clothes are available there."

The small female batted her eyes in her cultural show of appreciation, bowing also as she was directed to the hangar exit by another crewmember. Wesley watched momentarily as she stepped into the corridor, touched the flashing green lights in the wall panels, seemed to draw resolve from them, and moved more confidently in the direction they blinked. One small success story in the midst of this immense horror…

His attention was drawn back to that difficult reality by a hacking cough at the front of the line. An obviously older refugee struggled to regain his breath as a coughing fit passed, leaving him teetering on his fragile canes. A crewman stepped in to support him, as the younger woman behind him looked on impatiently.

"Sir," said Wesley, beginning the obligatory medical scan immediately, "Are you injured or ill? There is another line for those requiring medical attention."

"...Others …worse than I…" came the translated response. "Just winded..."

"Your scan is clear, sir," assured the young officer. "I'll just need to get your name and address for the record."

The evacuee opened his mouth to answer, but instead clutched his chest and collapsed into Wesley, writhing and gasping. The tricorder and ID badges clattered to the floor as Wesley fell; and his colleague was torn between helping the entangled pair and calming the others in line who panicked in response to this latest trauma. Cries of "Medic!" and "Security!" mixed with screams of agony and terror, as the orderly triage and registration station disintegrated quickly into chaos.

So quick and complete was the change that no one noticed the quiet woman who darted forward, grabbed a blank badge from the floor and slipped out into the corridor. With a cautious and smug glance over her shoulder, she became one of the many happy evacuees to follow the blinking green lights deeper into the ship that day.

* * *

The small yellow eyes peered out into the darkened hallway. One three-fingered hand was followed by another, and another, and another on the doorframe as the small figure slowly emerged from the darker room. Waddling into the corridor, she purred softly—flush with satisfaction of having opened the door and snuck out. That the sleeping Big would be angry at her escape was not a worry, especially not in comparison with the hurt she sensed outside.

She paused—her twelve fingers wriggling with anxiety at the pain of this presence, and with anticipation of the adventure to find and make it better. Gathering a stronger sense of where to go, she waddled quickly away from the Big and toward the Hurt.

Fifteen minutes, eight turns and two near captures later her eyes again peered around a corner, this time looking onto a section of ship's hallway packed with sitting and reclining figures. Some of the new Bigs slept—still or tossing; others stared blankly into the air—awake, but equally lost to their surroundings.

The little one moved slowly among them, orange tears welling up in her eyes as she sensed the extreme sadness that accompanied these Bigs. She cooed at and gently patted some, smiling weakly as she tried to make them be happy. Most ignored her as she continued down the line, still searching for the one whose Hurt had woken her and motivated her to begin this mercy mission.

Her Flotter and Trevin pajamas rustled quietly as she finally picked her way through the crowd to a brooding figure sitting by itself around a corner from the others. The power of this Big's feelings drew the little one to it as surely as did the gravity plates built into the deck below her feet. She whimpered in sympathy, as she reached out to comfort the Hurt.

Just before she made contact, the figure turned suddenly—its eyes wide with feelings well beyond sadness. Before she could cry out or withdraw from the rush of raw emotion, the figure reached out to provide its own comfort—of a different and more permanent kind.

* * *

Picard entered Sickbay and glanced about purposefully. Through the crowded room he picked out the bright red hair of his ship's surgeon and the dark, wavy locks of his ship's counselor. He moved toward them, casting reassuring looks at the crew and patients as he passed.

Approaching the biobed at which Crusher and Troi worked, he saw the physician gently pull a silvery sheet up the length of the bed as the empath placed her hands gently on the third figure's back. He paused as the two women exchanged a quick, doleful glance, and the man in the maroon uniform bent over the small figure outlined in cloth, shaking. Troi moved closer to him, as Crusher moved away, noticing Picard for the first time.

She joined him at a respectful distance, but did not turn to face the scene he watched. "Lt. Walsh adopted her two months ago; she was just learning to speak…"

"Mr. Worf says she was found half-way across the deck from their quarters, and that there was no sign of forced entry nor did Walsh hear anything. It would seem she left of her own accord; but why and what happened once she did leave?" he asked, half-rhetorically. He turned, and they walked away from the final family good-byes, into Crusher's office.

Calling up a physiogram on her desk terminal, Crusher pointed to an area centered among the child's four shoulder joints. "A wall of her major ventricle ruptured; I don't know why. But the drop in blood pressure and the internal bleeding killed her quickly. And painfully." Crusher sank, exhausted, into the chair, rubbing her tired head at this and the hundreds of other cases she had handled that day. "My God, Jean-Luc, she was child, right here on the ship; not down there where we're finding life to be the exception!"

"Beverly, I know this has been a difficult day to say the least, and that this was not a death any of us expected to face while here." He sat on the edge of the desk so as not to stand over her, and to soften the requests he was about to make. "But for precisely the reason that the _Enterprise_ should be a place of safety for the refugees and our own crew, I need you to focus on the facts, not on the tragedy." He worked to balance a respect for her fatigue with the urgency of the security situation. "I need to know, in your medical opinion, what caused the rupture."

Recognizing the truth in what he said, and appreciating the calming focus of how he said it, she drew on even deeper reserves of strength to push away the vagaries of exhaustion, and to answer. "There were no indications of any external or internal trauma; the heart just burst. I suppose there could have been a latent, genetic defect in the cardiac muscle, but her most recent physical—in fact all her medical records show no indication of any problems. No known infections or illnesses cause such sudden or localized tissue distress; and there are no residual energy signatures of any radiation weapon. I have no medical explanation for why it happened; my gut says it couldn't have and didn't 'just happen.'"

"Counselors Troi and Caid both indicated they felt the child's fear and pain in the few moments of her death, even as Caid initiated the emergency call. The child was developing into a powerful empath."

"Her species is known for the early appearance of such talents. But projecting pain, and suffering heart failure are different things …"

"Yes, I know. But Caid, who seemed to have had a stronger connection to her, said she sensed another presence mingled with the child's suffering. One more powerful, and more subtle. Might this presence have caused the injury?"

"Jean-Luc, are you suggesting we have a mental murderer on board?"

"In the lack of physical evidence, we have to consider other possibilities. Is it possible that this could have been some kind of telekinesis of the body—a telepathic blow?"

"But, the Kedicatalphians are not a telepathic species; so this killer would have to have come from among the Starfleet crews."

"Not necessarily, Doctor." Picard stood and paced slightly, the puzzle pieces in his head clicking together almost audibly. Crusher sat up in disbelief and concern as he reasoned out his analysis. "Data and Worf found a fresh 'Talphian body near one of the evacuation sites, unusual in that the area where she was found in had been recently swept by our search crews—she had been killed there only just before they found her, during our evacuation. And the apparent cause of death was burst hearts—both of them, without any sign of external trauma. Wouldn't you say that's remarkably similar to our little girl in there?"

He didn't wait for an answer. "To me, it indicates that this phenomenon may not have been restricted to the _Enterprise._ It implies that there may have been someone or something already on the planet, which may have come or spread aboard."

"Well…" muttered Crusher, unable and unwillingly to accept his conclusions.

"Beverly," insisted Picard, leaning over to lock eyes with her, pouring certainty and resolve out to her. "We have much bigger things to worry about right now than the possibility of a killer in our midst; so we need to be sure. I'd like to you to check the security and medical records for any mentions of similar or other unusual, heart-related incidents. Please. One way or the other, we need to know. Soon."

"Alright," she acceded. But refusing to allow him the last word, she cut to the quick of the bigger picture. "But if we do have a killer on board, then we're packing this ship to the bulkheads with easy targets for a long and tense relocation trip. It will be easy picking…."


	5. Chapter 5

"We have analyzed the information salvaged from the Kedicatalphian astronomical networks, and the sensor data from all the Starfleet ships involved in the evacuation." The host ship's Chief Engineer began the briefing without the usual pleasantries. "From them, we reconstructed a likely chain of events using probability algorithms and the few known facts."

His android co-presenter activated the small viewscreen at the end of the crowded Observation Lounge table, while Geordi narrated as the simulation rewound before them. "As you can see, the chain of events is fairly straightforward even in reverse: the residual energy field fluctuations we have now contract back into the energy waves striking the planet's magneto- and atmospheres, asteroids congealing into the inner planets as the shock wave retreats to the actual moment of solar detonation." On the display, starship, planetary and stellar positions played backwards through time from their current crowded positions to the initial explosion of the system's sun.

Data picked up the story there. "This sequence left only the question of why the star exploded to begin with—a question answered when we identified likely chemical culprits." He tapped in commands and a variety of datastreams replaced the glowing star, gradually focusing on two signature patterns. "Among the post-explosion materials now present in the Pirim System, we identified trace amounts of tekasite and trilithium."

"Ingredients for a sunkiller," glumly deduced the ship's First Officer. He cocked his jaw and exhaled at the gravity of that finding—a discomfort shared by the many shifting bodies around the room.

"Yes, sir," said Data, showing no such sign of emotional reaction to the facts before them. "A third possible component, protomatter, would have been annihilated in the explosion and would be undetectable to our scans."

"Commander Data," interjected the ranking officer, Fleet Captain Movar Ranca—a Caitian mix of power and grace in action and appearance. "Am I to underrrstand that this system and its people have been intentionally decimated?"

"It would seem so, sir. Supporting that theory, there was a single, fragmented satellite detection of a small object on course toward the star just before its collapse. It could easily have been a delivery vehicle for a sunkiller device."

"But where did it come from, Commander?" inquired Captain Att Klom, from the _Latting_. One of the few Tellarites in command of a Starfleet capital vessel, he was as blunt as ever in his first comment since introductions.

"Triangulating a reliable point of origin would require multiple tracking sites, which we do not have. However, the apparently linear flight path of the object would suggest its source as somewhere outside the Pirim System, in the direction of Nihm's Expanse." Data manipulated the simulation, causing a red streak to extend outward from the star in a straight line, beyond the orbital paths of the system's original six planets, into an area of less cartographic detail.

"Data, what you're describing shifts this mission and discussion from mere disaster relief to criminal investigation," summarized Picard. "You're talking pre-meditated, interplanetary genocide."

"Such a conclusion seems warranted, Captain."

"As do questions of suspect and motive," growled the large cat—not at all pleased with the increasingly problematic and dangerous nature of the situation. "Yourrr ideas on those points, gentlemen?"

Geordi stepped forward. "At this time, sirs, our only lead is this mystery device. We're continuing our analysis in the hopes of uncovering some more telling information. Short of what the 'Talphians can tell us, we've only got this clue with which to begin our investigation."

"And that investigation would likely mean taking a ship into the Expanse in the hopes of finding something." The _Inchcape's_ captain's voice was tired, and her face showed a similar lack of energy and hope. "Can we really afford that needle-in-a- haystack distraction from the evacuation efforts?"

Picard re-entered the discussion himself, in the hopes of rallying and focusing the overwhelming mystery and mission. "I have to agree with Captain Delmas. Our first priority should be on the relief efforts. The horrific damage is done; and, while necessary, the search for suspects can wait until we have a better handle on their surviving victims."

"Still," snorted the Tellarite, nostrils flaring, "we should keep our noses to the winds in case their work here is not done." He grunted in agreement with himself.

Ranca placed his paws on the table, in effect gaveling the discussion closed. "Agrrreed. The Commanders will continue their analysis in the hopes of better inforrrming our search. We will dispatch an investigation team once we can spare them from the rescue effort. For now, the Captains will be meeting the surrrviving government ministers to update them on this situation and the evacuation. We will also ask them for any ideas as to whom may have reasons and means to strike them."

"Thank you all for your work," he purred approvingly. "Know that we are making a differrrence here. Commanders, Counselors, you are dismissed. I would like to speak with the Captains beforrre our meeting with the ministers."

* * *

"May I get anyone anything?" hosted Picard as he stepped into the small alcove off his Ready Room. The three other Starfleet captains had filed in behind him, the Terran and Tellarite moving almost immediately toward the small couch, leaving the lithe and ranking Caitian the guest's chair before the desk.

Nods declining returned Picard opposite the large feline with only his own cup of tea. He noted how naval tradition held centuries after their assorted species had left the liquid seas to sail the stars. Though outranked by Ranca, and with slightly less service time than Delmas, these two senior officers and the more junior Klom all had respected that they were aboard his ship and had waited until he sat before taking their own seats. He sat behind his desk, setting the steaming cup and saucer to one side, and looked to the senior officer, at whose request they had all come together.

Movar Ranca swept the room with his eyes, acknowledging each of his peers. "Thank you all again for taking the time away from yourrr ships, to discuss our situation in perrrson. From the _Enterprise_ 's analysis, you see we have perhaps an even more complicated time before us than we had at firrrst realized."

The Tellarite flared his nostrils to note his view of that understatement.

"And while distressing," allowed Ranca, "the investigation will have to take lower priority as we observantly carry on the rescue operrrations. Conditions on the surface continue to worsen, and morale there and here will inevitably follow. Thereforrre, before we meet with the surviving government ministers, I wanted us to review ourrr efforts and options so that we can all focus on saving lives."

He activated the large PADD he'd brought with them, and the others followed suit—reading along where applicable, and/or referencing their own information as needed.

"Captain Delmas tells me that the _Inchcape_ is securing to push off even as we speak. However, as her crew arrived firrrst and rescued a number of the senior officials, I have asked her to handle introductions before leaving so that they have some sense of secure transition as she deparrrts. Thank you, Alexandrrra." Delmas nodded gently, fatigue clear on her face and in her posture.

Reading from real-time figures fed to him by the ships under his command and the larger Starfleet communication network at his disposal, "In the meanwhile, three colonial transports, fourteen civilian freighterrrs and six additional starships are en route as we speak. Several will be dropping supplies at the refugee camps on Tannon on their way here, and all are expected to arrive within the next thirrrty hours. More ships are being identified for dispatch, and the Starfleet captains have orrrders to commandeer any warp-capable Federation ship they encounter on the way.

"These ships will bring the transfer capacity to more than two hundred thousand perrr three-day round trip. With this addition alone, we've cut the mission time to under four months, and that will continue to drop as additional ships enter the equation."

Klom, as usual, quickly tired of listening, and sat up to the edge of the couch, leaning in with his pet idea to speed things up. "What about the idea of creating a string of ships and transporter relay buoys between 'Talphia and Tannon, at maximum transporter range, to beam evacuees directly from here to the colony there?" He snorted to emphasize the soundness of the plan.

Picard, chuckling inwardly as his colleague's species signature forwardness, fielded the question. "Att, the distance and traffic load are just too great. Besides, with the energy anomalies in the system and all that open space in between, the engineers say that it's just too risky. Any interference or malfunction when beaming people…"

The large cat interjected smoothly to salvage both the potential of the idea and the pride of the non-verbally harrumphing boar. "Gentlemen, there is still the possibility of sending supplies and materials between the two planets, even while the population evacuation is underrrway by ship. Technicians at Starfleet Command and the Vulcan Science Academy are working on the specifications for a transporter buoy relay networrrk that might allow us to forward survival gear from Tannon, and to retrieve items from the surrrface here without tying up any starships."

The sole female in the group, whose additional unique feature was her direct contact with the local leadership, joined the conversation. "Even with that possibility and a flawless evacuation, they will ask you about the possibility of stabilizing the planet. The 'Talphians are deeply connected to their land, and would prefer to remain under almost any circumstance. Even with all this assistance, people will be on the surface for weeks and months to come… Whether to buy ourselves more evacuation time or to save the planet outright, we need to be able to tell them what we can do regarding the planet."

Ranca nodded to Picard, whose ship's sensors and labs were best equipped of the response force to assess and analyze the active geology below. Picard shook his head glumly as he practiced his response to the likely question. "The various matter and EM shockwaves from the solar explosion badly damaged the atmosphere, shifted the orbit and wrecked havoc with the planet's tectonics. Unfortunately, there's just too much damage to the planet for us to fix. At this point, we're prioritizing the danger levels, and evacuating the least stable and safe places first."

The balding Terran leaned forward on his desk, and extended his fingers toward his colleagues to accentuate his offer that, "We can localize some small areas to minimize the climate extremes temporarily, but not much more than that. That does mean putting our people on the ground there, and getting the locals to those spaces from wherever they are; in most cases it's faster simply to load them up and remove them. We must prioritize swift evacuation for the foreseeable future."

Ranca picked up the report/persuasion as the practice run continued. "In the meanwhile, another priority is providing for those we haven't gotten off the surrrface yet. We have beamed down supplies wherever possible—some shipments made it; others were damaged or absorrrbed by the energy fluxes. We will continue trying to give the people a means of surviving until we can get to them."

Delmas bit her upper lip and raised her eyebrows in a mix of hope and doubt that the assurances would be well received by the local officials. Noting the minutes ticking away in the corner of his PADD display, Ranca smiled and scratched a mane-hidden ear, deciding that the first draft, and ultimately quite honest, response would have to suffice.

"On the topic of our evacuation work, and with the _Inchcape_ preparing to leave us, we need to be clear on the details of the comings and goings of ships, small craft and crews. I am asking that as each of your ships departs for Tannon, you will leave the bulk of your shuttles, attached crew and other non-critical personnel on assignment to the remaining ships. Those extra staff will be used to expand ourrr planetside presence and supplement all crews to allow for rest periods. I will leave it up to you to coorrrdinate the details of your own crew."

The captains nodded in agreement, making notes and relaying the instructions to their respective staffs.

"In addition, as we begin to reach our passengers capacities, we need to determine a timetable by which at least two capital ships remain on station here at all times. In addition to supporting our teams on the surface, we also need them ready for asteroid interception, orbital scans and general police duties in case anyone tries to take advantage of the vulnerability of this situation."

Klom's hypercaution latched onto this passing admission of danger; he was quickly perched again on the edge of his seat, ears and nose quivering. "Do we have any new indication of threat?"

"No, not at all," assured Ranca. "But we don't want to give anyone an open invitation. As you suggested earrrlier, Att, let's use the same scans watching for asteroids and energy anomalies to watch for looters."

The door chimed, followed almost immediately by the entrance of Commander Riker. "Excuse me, sirs. You asked to be notified immediately when the collected ministers had arrived. They are waiting for you in the Observation Lounge."

Picard stood, again in the role of host, "Thank you, Commander." The others stood on cue, but waited for the ranking officer to formally close their gathering.

Ranca paused to summarize and transition, "Captain Delmas will leave us as soon as introductions have been made; travel swiftly and safely, Alexandrrra. I am most pleased with how well all our crews are perrrforming, and know the 'Talphians appreciate you and your crews' service. We are living the reason we entered Starfleet, in facing the worst the univerrrse has to offer, by giving our best."

He purred softly and led the file of quadruple-pipped burgundy uniforms to offer solace and salvation to the leaders of an otherwise doomed civilization.


	6. Chapter 6

The five figures encircled their prey completely, leaving it no means of escape. It sat motionless in their center, as if its stillness would protect it. For a few moments none of the predators moved on it, testing their wills against its inviting presence, and biding their time. Each also hesitated to see whether another would strike first, silently pondering the complex social rules that governed their feeding behaviors. Eventually, however, their hunger would dominate the group inertia, and one would attack first—selecting the choice, or at least the nearest, target. But which would it be?

"Oh, all right, if nobody else will start, I will!" exclaimed Deanna Troi. She picked a smallish one, and bit it gingerly in half. The gates now open, the other counselors helped themselves to the tray of chocolates she'd provided for their gathering in her quarters. "The dark chocolate is my favorite, but the mint ones are good too." A square of sweet relief on her tongue, she glanced around at her colleagues sitting around her coffee table. Each was experienced, but exhausted, and she hoped the candy would bring them some comfort as it did her.

"Help yourselves to these and the replicator," she invited, rounding out her duties as hostess. "While you do, I want to thank you each for coming. I realize we all have far too much going on aboard our respective ships, but Timin and I thought that the Captains' meeting here was a good opportunity for us to touch base, and to relax a little." Three other heads nodded in agreement to the large workload, and to the need for the break. She noted that one head wasn't nodding, or even looking toward her; how tired Bergin must be…

"After they meet with one another," she continued, "the Captains will meet with the surviving governmental ministers to update them on the evacuation, and to see how they would like to proceed as the surviving population is consolidated on Tannon."

"I hear that the climate is quite moderate this time of year on Tannon," broke in Counselor Garse, the Betazoid from the _Latting_. "It's a good time to be unloading six million refugees into tent cities."

"Always looking for the silver lining in everything aren't you, eh Cannon?" half-smiled his fellow full-telepath, Caid.

Troi stepped in gracefully to re-focus the discussion. "The 'Talphian colonies there are already preparing to receive their homeworlders, and part of the Federation response will be providing supplies to them there. By the time our ships can ferry large numbers to Tannon, the local establishments and the Refugee Commission should be well-prepared for them."

"That leaves us with the still-considerable task of caring for their physical and emotional well-being in the meanwhile," somberly noted the _Isador's_ Counselor Ongnoi from Alpha Centauri.

"Exactly, Denama. And I suggest that we tackle the task in pretty much that order," stated the empath, refusing to let the magnitude of the order de-moralize the meeting. "The Fleet is focusing its efforts on their physical condition: improving it as much as possible with survival gear, and removing them from the surface as quickly as possible."

Garse acknowledged that effort, but looked beyond it. "I know the Captains are working on it, but the evacuees know that even at maximum warp and with more ships on the way, it will be weeks if not months before we've spacelifted all the survivors."

Caid jumped in, to support Troi's hopeful agenda. "So our task is to make the most of the situation while the Fleet continues to gather and move them. Ranca's keeping their leaders informed and involved is important, but that doesn't much re-assure the masses. We need ideas on what we can do for the average 'Talphian here and on the surface."

Ongnoi jumped aboard, "We are broadcasting instructions across the surface telling survivors to seek shelter and signal as best they can, that we are beaming down supplies, creating regional relief centers, and evacuating as quickly as possible. But, I'd suggest we have the native officials begin making those announcements so that the surface survivors hear their government has also survived, and is working for them."

"Good suggestion; we can add that to our report to the Captains." Troi made quick notes on her PADD, and looked around the group, wanting to keep the momentum moving in this positive direction. "What else?"

"On the _Latting_ , we've connected the evacuee registry directly into our shipboard LCARS and comm systems, as well as provided additional interface terminals in all the large spaces. Refugees can check on family and friends whenever they want to."

"I heard that the _Inchcape_ crew has begun passing out PADDs for families to begin documenting their material property," interjected the male Betazoid, looking for some sign of confirmation from that ship's representative. Though he received none, he added his own commentary to the idea, "In addition to giving them something to do, it will make salvage operations much easier once the population is safe."

"What about family re-unification?" asked the ship-less counselor. "I've had quite a few requests from people to be transferred to another ship where their relatives are."

"I think it would help spirits to be close to loved ones. Any little thing to restore hope and maintain calm," concurred Troi.

"True, but the logistics of moving people around would be impossible," added the realist Alpha Centauri. "Identifying interested individuals, determining what relationships are eligible for transfer, keeping track of their movements—not to mention the dedicated use of shuttle space for surface evacuation. I have to think our priority must be on saving lives before improving them."

"I have to agree with Denama," nodded Caid. "For the larger good, I think we'll have to ask them to hold on until they reach Tannon, where re-connecting will be easier."

"Well, if we're passing out PADDs anyway," thought Garse aloud, "couldn't we just arrange for ship-to-ship visual communication through them? We could limit the times any one person could call, but it would provide at least some limited contact among the families until we can re-unite them. And, if we still get some adamant demands for transfer, we could handle them quietly, on a case-by-case basis."

"Excellent ideas!" approved Troi, noting the suggestions and beaming with appreciation for the progress on attitude and process being made. "I'll approach Commander Riker about allocating some comm frequencies. Can you each make sure PADDs get out to your passengers?"

Three heads nodded in agreement, furiously making notes or real-timing the instructions to their ships through their networked handhelds. Troi noted again that Bergin was not participating, and in fact didn't seem to be mentally present at all. Perhaps addressing him indirectly… "Another issue is that our own crews are beginning to fatigue. The _Inchcape_ personnel have already been on station for more than two days." She nodded slightly toward the withdrawn human; the others nodded knowingly. "We're going to lose efficiency of rescue operations as we rotate people out for rest periods; we'll lose safety and efficiency if we don't."

Realist _and_ practical, Ongnoi blurted out, "Rather than multiply problems, let's combine solutions here! We've got thousands of restless passengers from all across 'Talphian society. To supplement our own stretched personnel resources and to occupy the refugees, why don't we begin turning over some shipboard functions to them? Whether by profession or personality, let's give them the tasks of registering new refugees, staffing their dining and basic medical services, arranging their own morale-boosting activities, etc. If they've got pilots, let's put them into the shuttle rotations. Sure, we'd still need to keep our people around for ship's security and to help with critical systems; but we could empower them to handle some of the more basic functions. Everybody wins."

Her sales pitch was an instant hit with almost everyone present—simple, elegant and incredibly efficient. The three telepaths traded quiet, _Why didn't I think of that?!'_ s, while making note of the plan. The fifth body gave no reaction at all, continuing his complete lack of participation in the discussion.

Troi, host and team player, would have no more of his reticence. "Nich, you've been very quiet, and your mind has been elsewhere. Are you all right?"

He sat there for a moment, eyes open and unreactive. Eight eyes burned into him, as silence broke out in the room for the first time since they'd all arrived.

"Nich!" shouted Ongnoi, less patient and less bound by hospitality decorum than Troi. "Command to Dr. Bergin!"

He flinched, and looked up sheepishly. "Hmmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I have been pre-occupied. My PADD is recording; I won't have missed any of your plans and decisions," he responded blandly.

Troi was not satisfied. "It's not so much our thoughts that concern me at the moment, but yours. You are extremely anxious and focused."

Garse added his concerns, "I'd say 'afraid' would be more accurate, Deanna. Nich, would you mind sharing? We might be able to help."

::Your pre-occupation might be important for us too:: Caid's telepathic message was 'loud' enough for all five of them to receive it.

"No fair," said Bergin, perking up a little and trying to show his typical lightheartedness. "Three telepaths against one human. Not fair at all!"

"You really do seem bothered, Nich," added Ongnoi—upping the odds to three telepaths and one Alpha Centauri against the solo Terran.

Bergin could count, and could see that the gallery of curious faces was united and not backing down. "I don't know; it may be nothing." He shifted in his seat, and wrung his hands as he continued through his hesitation. "I mean, I have no tele- or empathic abilities."

Caid spoke to reassure, correct and coax him. "But you are have of the most renown intuitions in the Counselor Corps. I'll take a chance on whatever it is your gut is telling you." The other three faces nodded in agreement.

Bergin paused, looking at them all, gathering his thoughts and confidence. He sat up in his chair, inhaled deeply, and laid it before them. "Ever since our Science Officer was killed, I've had a name stuck in my head: Lauren."

The assembled counselors looked at him, at one another, and back at him for some hint of recognition. They found none; so he continued. "I don't know who she is, if anyone; why her name has come up; or what, if anything, she has to do with our situation. I only know that I can't shake the name, or the intense dread that I feel with it."

Ongnoi consulted her PADD, typing in a series of commands and receiving a varied signal of beeps in response. "Checking crew and evacuee registries of our three ships, there are only two Starfleet officers with that name; neither is aboard the _Inchcape_. There are no refugees listed under it, and no other variations or similarities show."

"As I said," repeated Bergin, "I don't know that it means anything; just that it won't leave me alone." He looked around the circle with a look of sorrow and helplessness, wanting to offer more than he had to give.

Counselor Garse, closest to him in both distance and age, placed a firm hand on his shoulder, expressing the same reassurance as the others felt and Troi voiced. "That makes it important, Nich; we just may not know why right now."

The _Isador's_ representative tapped a few commands into her PADD, enacting their collected confidence in their colleague. "I've added an autosearch and instant notification to the evacuee roster registration system. It will notify each of us when someone with that or a similar name is entered."

They sat in silence for a moment, their brainstormed solutions and the as yet unanswered questions settling heavily among them.

Caid stirred first, picking up a choice dark chocolate bar, and handing it to Bergin, who smiled for the first time that day. The others selected their own, toasted one another and indulged.

The gathering ceremonially adjourned, they traded final pleasantries, gathered their things and parted ways to begin the next round of relief work. As the others headed off to shuttles and their home ships while their Captains continued to meet, Troi and Caid tidied up her quarters and finished off the last, rich evidence of the afternoon's meeting.

* * *

With meetings over and senior staff returning, the _USS Inchcape_ turned away from her sister ships and the ravaged planet under their care, and moved away briskly toward open space, light on fanfare and laden with refugees. From his seat at the center of the _Enterprise_ bridge, Will Riker noted that Captain Delmas was wasting no time with lingering good-byes or slow departures. In fact, the _Inchcape_ was pushing the safety envelope for in-system speed, especially in an area as unstable as this one. In her haste, she was taking a big risk with the particularly unruly gravitational forces her ship would face as it navigated through and clear of the wrecked planet and its former neighbors.

Her official report would of course justify the speed as minimizing her travel time, so that she could return for additional evacuees more quickly. But Riker knew the real reason, and he really couldn't blame her. The mission was not the most enchanting of tasks, and her crew had paid dearly for the safety she brought her passengers. This was not a happy place to anyone onboard that rapidly retreating ship; their collective desire to be free from the memories here helped propel them away. Without a second glance back, the _Inchcape_ was gone.

Riker watched longingly after them for a moment, before the hectic sounds of global rescue hammered back into his consciousness. "Commander, the hourly update report." His attention snapped back to the Andorian officer standing beside him with PADD-bearing hand outstretched. Taking the device and scanning through it, he simultaneously processed the oral summary.

"We have settled the _Inchcape's_ shuttles into our cooperative flight schedules," reported the blue Lieutenant, his antennae drooping noticeably. "With the loss of their shuttlebay, our overall offloading capacity is diminished, so we have begun routing some flights to exterior airlocks in an attempt to recover as much of that load as possible. At present, we have more than ten thousand refugees on board or en route specifically to the _Enterprise_. We continue to identify pockets of survivors and beam down survival packages; those exports should open space for an additional three thousand persons by the time our stores have been exhausted. Even with that increase, we estimate only another twenty-two hours before we reach maximum occupancy."

As tired as they were, the Starfleet crews were still doing an excellent job at managing the immense numbers of people and volumes of materials being exchanged between the ships and the surface. These figures indicated they were already forty-five minutes ahead of their projected numbers, and while slowing slightly, they had not become any less careful from their prolonged exertions. Not yet anyway. "Very good. What is the status of the unload agenda for the transports at they arrive?"

"Sciences sections have developed autonomous computer subroutines to continually locate, count, assess and prioritize survivors from orbit. We'll have the real-time agenda ready when the transports arrive. Their large landing craft will be used to deliver supplies to the heavier concentrations of people, freeing shuttles to pick up the smaller parties and bring them up."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll inform the Captain." Riker turned to his armrest controls as the stoic staff returned to his post. Riker called up the estimated arrival times for the approaching fleet. They too appeared to be moving ahead of schedule, with the first two ships due to arrive within the next few hours. In the meanwhile, a few smaller freighters and commercial starliners, who had been closer when the distress calls went out, should begin arriving at any time.

At that moment, a ripple passed through the atmosphere of the bridge. Riker smiled that, even as overworked and under-rested as they were at the moment, the crew still responded with a familiar bristle to the arrival of the Captain to the bridge. The soft, strong tread on the ramp from the turbolift was followed by the expected, "Status report, Number One?"

Riker smiled as he gave up the command seat and the report PADD. "Remarkably good considering the situation we're all in." He gave Picard a moment to take in the details of the report, a digestion made with pursed lips and wrinkled brow.

"Not bad indeed, considering. Ranca will be pleased; let's hope it's enough for the 'Talphians." They exchanged agreement in nods, before Picard quickly became restless with sitting still in the midst of the activity around them. "Let me update you on my meetings with the other Captains and ministers. Join me for tea?" he asked, suggested and instructed in one fell swoop as he stood and headed toward his Ready Room.

Riker again smiled at the amazing manner in which routine underlay even the most critical and delicate of situations—the foundation on which the extraordinary performance of his crew and colleagues rested. He rose and followed, and reached the open door in time to hear the well-practiced "Tea. Earl Gray. Hot." echo from the replicator alcove. He had not moved into the room far enough, however, to miss the jingle of a sensor signal from the Tactical station.

"Commander!" came the quick cry from the visiting _Inchcape_ officer.

He turned before the Ready Room doors could close him in. "Yes, Mr. Gesnard?"

"A Kona freighter has entered the system and is reporting for relief duty as commandeered. A Martian Lines passenger cruiser is close behind."

"Very well. Log them in; we'll let the _Isador_ allocate them as needed." He watched from the doorway as the nervous young officer nodded and typed purposefully on the station before him. Behind him, Riker heard the clink of cup and desk as the Captain settled in for their briefing. He moved into the smaller, quieter room, and heard the doors snap shut behind him, closing out the din of the bridge as he moved toward the waiting chair opposite Picard.

He had just taken the seat, when the internal comm buzzed open, "Commander Riker!?"

He and Picard shared a smirk at the persistent nature of the guest officer. "Yes. Mr. Gesnard." Riker panned as he tapped his communicator.

"Sir, we have a third ship moving in ahead of the others, heading quickly toward us."

Riker was now annoyed at the constant supervision this one required. "Another rescue ship? Have them report to Fleet Captain Ranca as well."

"No sir, this ship is of unknown configuration, and does not respond to hails. The other ships don't know her, and she's heading directly for us." Picard looked up from his tea and reports, to matched Riker's raised eyebrows. Both men stood at the same time, heading toward the bridge door. "Sir, she's firing!"

They stumbled out of the sideroom as the Federation flagship lurched under the new arrival's violent introduction. The bridge screamed with alarms and pulsed with red accents as crew reacted to the threat to their own ship and the many others congesting the area around them. Riker and Picard stepped into the center of the commotion, the former shouting for "Shields!" and the latter calling "On viewscreen!"

On the front wall, they watched as a compact, angular and unmarked ship darted past them, and quickly overtook the _Latting_ as she slowly orbited ahead of them. It loosed a series of energy blasts across the upper surface of the squat ship, and hurtled on toward the smaller _Excelsior_ farther ahead. Along its path shuttles and runabouts, more vulnerable but more maneuverable than their motherships, scattered in all directions to avoid the attacker and one another.

Riker refused to take things standing still. "Return fire."

Picard stepped in quickly to "Belay that order, Mr. Gesnard. They're too far from us and too close to those shuttles; the _Latting_ will have to get her."

But the _Latting_ merely sat there, stunned and scarred by the lightning fast attack on her primary hull. The culprit drove boldly beyond her reach and neatly through the swarm of auxiliary craft—heading directly for the rear of the third capital ship. Surprised but not silent, the veteran command ship fired a few careful, defensive shots around the refugee ships seeking refuge under her protection; but they did not slow the advancing stranger.

 _Enterprise_ , _Latting_ and the surrounding ships could only watch, as a solitary shuttle—already so close—struggled to reach the safety of the _Isador_ shuttlebay.

Under his breath, Riker whispered to Picard without shifting his gaze from the viewer, "That's Ranca's shuttle."

For a few long seconds the small ship's length slowly disappeared into the artificial gravity and atmosphere, until it was finally inside the sanctuary.

Hundreds of onlookers also watched as it was accompanied into the larger ship by a series of ramped-up blasts from the attacker ship. The tail of the _Isador_ exploded in a ball of flame. Not waiting for the show, the anonymous assailant continued firing round after round into the undefended secondary hull plating, dorsal connector, impulse drive housing and main bridge. The severe strafing ended only when the smaller ship had cleared the nose of the saucer, and continued straight out into space, leaving a nearly solid line of holes, explosions and debris along the centerline of the command ship.

Rocked by internal bulkhead failures, rapid decompressions, energy conduit ruptures, and secondary blasts, the _Isador_ rolled slowly to one side. Geysers of flame and structural fragments erupted along the length of her secondary hull as the internal destruction moved forward from the now-absent aft sections and the toppling nacelle pylons toward the main deflector and saucer. Amidships the fusion reactors that powered the impulse engines had taken direct hits, and ripped themselves and the thick neck of the ship apart. The partially detached primary hull, itself burning from multiple breaches, tore away in the direction of the planet—pitting its spin against the opposite roll of the mutilated engineering superstructure. The competing stress and torque wrenched the entire, riddled spaceframe from darkened bow to fiery tail. With visible shudders and spasms, the _Isador_ broke into two large pieces—each of which tumbled independently into the planet's upper atmosphere.

"Mr. Data, lock onto survivors in the engineering hull and beam them out. _Latting,_ emergency transport from the saucer section!" shouted Picard, desperate to do anything but play passive bystander.

Data's hands flew over his console, but to no end. "The level of live energy discharges in the wreckage is interfering with transporter scans. I am unable to lock onto any life signs." His hands came to a rest, and he looked up to the viewscreen forlorn. He and his shipmates watched in horror as more than six thousand crew and passengers hurtled to brilliant, silent deaths less than two minutes after the attack had begun.

They took some hope from the few escape pods that managed to slip away before friction fires and continuing explosions engulfed the sinking wreckage. And, surely seconds from a final, catastrophic failure, the ship's matter/antimatter reaction chamber and several antimatter storage tanks emerged from one glowing ball—ejected to safety by some doomed crewmember whose last act was to save the looming planet and nearby ships from a disastrous, upper atmospheric warp core breach.

"Mr. Gesnard, launch probes to track that ship. Data, dispatch shuttles to collect survivors and secure that antimatter." Picard turned to Riker and spoke somberly to him alone. "This entire situation is getting entirely out of hand; we need to take another look at all our puzzle pieces. Maintain red alert, and gather the senior staff while I report this to Starfleet. You have the Bridge."

Picard wheeled about and stormed off the bridge in a few short strides. Riker noted there was no wave of relaxation among the crew on his departure as would usually be the case. If anything, his absence only added to the glum weight that had settled quickly on the bridge and the rescue fleet as a whole.


	7. Chapter 7

"Suffice it to say that Command is not pleased with where this mission is headed, and I must say that neither am I. What the hell just happened out there?" Picard glanced about the table for answers from anyone. With the destruction of the _Isador,_ and the death of Captain Ranca, Picard had assumed command of the entire rescue operation. Therefore, in addition to an unhappy captain, the crew faced a very unhappy task force commanding officer. The displeased visage finally rested its demanding gaze on Lt. Worf.

As usual, Worf was quick and to the point. "We were targets of a well-planned and -executed attack. The assailant approached from the direction we were expecting friendly arrivals, and close enough to the relief ships to cause momentary confusion about its identity and purpose. By the time we reacted, it had overtaken us, disrupted the systems on the _Latting_ , and fired into the unprotected _Isador_ shuttlebaybefore they could raise shields. The attack's timing was either extremely lucky, or meticulously planned. They didn't waste a second or a shot." His trademark brevity was perfect for this occasion; he could see Picard's habitual calm returning as his facial muscles relaxed every so slightly.

Riker noticed the chink in the anger, and waded in to continue addressing the Captain's mood and the mission's tone. "Beyond our losses, this attack killed thousands of 'Talphians too, and has slowed our evacuation efforts greatly. More will probably die from that delay. I'd say someone has a significant grudge against these people."

"Did their leaders tell us of any standing disputes or enemies?" asked the Chief Engineer.

"Captain Klom asked them as delicately as he can, and they couldn't think of anyone having any quarrels with them. They pointed out that this region is relatively bereft of space-going races with whom to be at odds."

Troi slipped into conversation, surprising her crewmates as she again stepped beyond her emotional support role, to make an insightful engineering connection. "Data, this ship… Was it of the same design as the sunkiller?"

Even the android cocked his head at the perceptive suggestion. "An excellent supposition, Counselor. However, with only fragmentary records of the delivery vehicle, we cannot determine whether the two are of similar build or origin. The attacks did use different weapons, as this attack used an energy weapon previously unknown to us, apparently some type of zero point energy system." He paused, frozen in thought-analysis. He turned to face the Captain and First Officer, piggybacking on Troi's implication. "Sir, their trajectories were nonetheless identical: the projectile entered this system from almost the exact point where this attacker left it."

"All roads lead to the Expanse, eh?" Picard chewed his lip momentarily, obviously taken with the possibilities here. "It would seem that someone needs to pay a visit to that neighborhood." He looked up from his thoughtful pose to gauge the reactions of his senior staff.

"Captain," began Troi, carrying her analytical prowess into her more familiar role of direct care provision, "I don't think it wise to divert any ships from the evacuation effort at this point; we're still in the most critical time for rescuing survivors, and need every seat we can fill."

Picard sat perfectly still, showing no reaction on his face. To Crusher, that said it all, "Captain, you're not actually thinking about taking the _Enterprise_ off on a criminal goose chase now, are you?" Heads around the table turned to follow the expected verbal volley.

"It would not be prudent to send anything smaller than a starship, Doctor," added Worf. "Even without the element of surprise, that attack ship is too powerful for even an enhanced shuttle to handle."

Picard again sat unmoving for several long seconds, inwardly pondering the vast number of facts, theories and possible reactions. "All ships will remain at yellow alert until further notice. The capital ships will take up positions at strategic points among the relief ships. We'll also turn our bows outward, presenting our strongest faces to potential attacks, and maximum protection to the smaller ships ferrying to and from the shuttlebays at our backs. As soon as a few additional Starfleet ships arrive, and we are full, the _Enterprise_ will set out on an initial investigation of the attacks' source."

"Captain, it is imperative we get as many people off this planet as quickly as we can," insisted Crusher. "The _Enterprise_ has one of the largest evacuation capacities available outside the colonial transports; can we afford to remove ourselves from the spacelift equation? And even if you're OK with that, we already have nearly fifteen thousand refugees on board. We could be saving them from one peril on the planet, only to deliver them into additional danger."

"Doctor, I appreciate your concerns and I share them. We are certainly now responsible for these people's safety. And it would seem that a significant threat to them is this unknown party's launching attacks on them and us from the Expanse. I, for one, am not willing to sit here or to leave knowing that threat continues to exist if there is something we can do about it. And I would point out that in addition to being one of the largest Federation ships in the area, we are without a doubt the most powerful. That little ship dispatched an _Excelsior_ -class ship rather handily, and I don't fancy sending a medical ship or transport after it.

"No. Someone has to find the source of these attacks in the Expanse, and stop them. Of the ships available for the mission, we are the best-suited, not the ideal choice. The _Kearsarge_ , _Wellington_ , _Biko_ and _Maryland_ are all scheduled to arrive shortly. On their arrival, the _Latting_ will depart for Tannon, and we will set out for Nihm's Expanse."

Sure they would not question the orders, but well aware that the obedience wouldn't come happily, Picard showed some compassion to Crusher and Troi's concerns. "In the meanwhile, given the obvious delay in delivering our passengers to the relocation site, Doctor and Counselors, please arrange for transfer of any patients who need a faster delivery to the permanent medical facilities on Tannon."

Crusher clenched her jaw and drummed her fingers on the table in front her, visibly struggling to channel her reaction. Troi and Caid gazed at her with intentional detachment, obviously focused on the strong emotions no telepathy was needed to detect from the fiery physician. For her part, Crusher looked down at the table, swallowed and put verbal form to the tension hanging about her. "Captain, I will of course carry out the order you give. However, I feel it imperative to remind you before you make a final decision that we also have the none-too-small matter of an uncanny series of cardiac-related deaths and incidents aboard, which our off-course detective work will not address."

Heads around the table snapped toward Crusher, whose steely face offered no comfort or additional information. Slowly, heads turned back to the head of the table, waiting on the next spoken shots that would determine all their upcoming activities.

Picard gave no indication of surprise, fluster or anger at the challenge or revelation. In fact, he continued as if she had actually commented on the comfortable room temperature. "Doctor, as not everyone at the table is familiar with the incidents to which you refer, would you please catch us up on your investigation?"

The immediate face-off diffused, and the question hanging, the table's occupants settled in for twist in the plot of their current circumstance.

Crusher nodded in acquiescence, fingers slowing in their knitting as she explained. "Briefly, after Commander Data's discovery of an out-of-place body at one of our landing sites on the surface, we had the apparent murder of a civilian child on board—Lt. Walsh's daughter. Both deaths were due to inexplicable cardiac ruptures. On the hunch of a pattern, I had my staff run a check of our medical and evacuation records, and located a number of other heart-related incidents in the past few days.

"Doctor," interrupted the ship's Executive Officer with knitted brow as he tried to follow the case she was laying out. "I don't mean to get ahead of you, but given the stress of the situation, wouldn't we expect to quite a high number of heart-related problem and even deaths?"

"True," nodded Crusher, allowing the clarification. "And we have, of course, seen a high number of chest pains, palpitations, psychosomatic debilitations, anxiety attacks, etc. However, I'm looking at circumstances that are suspicious _even_ in the larger context of stress and illness. Strokes, cardiac arrest, etc are expected; a growing pattern of outright ruptures in the cardiac muscle are not."

Riker sat back, satisfied for the moment, and returned the floor to Crusher alone. "Even beyond the two deaths by _burst_ heart I've mentioned, and among hundreds of understandable heart-items reported by medical and security teams, we found a short list of unusual suspects. For example, the Science Officer aboard the _Inchcape_ was killed at his station by an electrical surge that caused—or perhaps covered—a burst heart; that would make the total deaths three. Second, between the time Data and Worf found the 'Talphian body and the child's death here on _Enterprise,_ an evacuation shuttle from that body's village had _all_ its passengers experienced chest pains en route from the surface and they were diverted here."

Crusher looked around the table for indications others shared her implied conclusion and concerns, but saw mostly puzzled if attentive faces as her crewmates chewed on the chain of evidence she presented.

Troi, ever available to help focus the conversations, added a critical piece that Crusher had not shared. "Obviously there are other circumstances in the case of Lt Commander Ilurr, and many Kedicatalphians have died tragically on the planet. The doctor's concern is that these and perhaps other deaths have or will go overlooked as something other than statistics in the larger picture of the evacuation. In the instance of the death aboard the _Enterprise_ , Counselor Caid and I both sensed a telepathic presence at the time of the death, beyond that of the child herself. We share Beverly's concern that something beyond natural cause occurred, and with that anchor, the other, eerily similar deaths and medical instances take on a greater significance. Especially as easy as they are to be lost in the larger picture."

Worf looked genuinely alarmed at this, sitting up in his seat. "Doctor, Counselors, are you suggesting that we have attacker, perhaps a telepathic one on board the _Enterprise_?" He looked among them to see them all nod solemnly. With that confirmation he turned to Riker and then to Picard, as if waiting for the joke to be admitted or for him to be loosed on the trail.

Sharing and building on his concern, the ship's First Officer impassively asked and stated, "That gives us two attackers at large and two investigations to pursue—one for murder and another for genocide."

Crusher, feeling support for her concerns now widespread, brought home her point with a Picardian note of finality. "And as if the latter weren't bad enough already, imagine what public knowledge that the saving starship was also host to a literal heart-breaker would do."

Picard broke into a resigned smile, and leaned in on his hands clasped on the table before him. "Nothing about our current situation is desirable. Any one of these circumstances would be grave enough on its own; in sum they seem insurmountable. Nonetheless, they are ours and we will face them as we have so many others. As Captain Ranca said just before he left us, it's why we are here and what we do best."

He pushed back into his seat, sitting upright swiftly, projecting momentum as he dispatched them. "So let's to it then. Doctor, you'll see that any pressing medical issues are transferred to another ship. Counselors, you'll work with Mr. Worf to track down our possible telepathic possible killer. Everyone else will assist as your regular relief duties allow." Look around the collection of capable officers, he concluded, "You have your assignments; keep me updated."

He stood in dismissal of the assembly, and turned to his second in command to formally start them in motion, "Commander, as soon as Dr Crusher has transferred any necessary patients, set course into the Expanse. Let's put an end to this senseless destruction."


	8. Chapter 8

The replicator whirred and sparkled producing a simple plate of simple foods. Timin Caid took the dish from the platform, and passed casually over to the young mother and her children. They all gurgled and eye-batted gratitude at her, and she nodded quietly. _Thank goodness for the little things_ , she consoled herself as she continued her meandering observation. The ship's shudder and the red alert condition of thirty minutes earlier had sent the entire evacuee population into hysterics, an understandable state down from which they were only now settling. Intent on projecting confidence and care to these planetary orphans, she and several other crew had set out immediately to visit each of the temporary habitats that littered the ship.

She noted that despite being packed with refugees this large cargo bay was remarkably quiet. She wound her way through the tight rows of bunk beds and floor mats, hearing only the occasional sound of hushed conversation or a child's happy cry. The adults were obviously still in shock—some physically, others still stunned by the trauma they had experienced today and through the days before. Their physical needs were being met here; the most immediate emotional concerns were being addressed as best they could; but the majority of the healing would come with time. In the meanwhile, it was a good sign to see many re-ordering their life aboard ship by engaging in daily tasks such as grooming, housekeeping, and homecrafts with materials supplied from ship's stores.

It was also good to see the children enjoying their new lodgings and playmates. How the Betazoid wished that she and their elders could be so resilient in the face of such gross destruction. Resilient or oblivious. _Oblivion is bliss,_ wasn't that the old Terran saying?

She had reached the far end of the room, and turned to double back down the other side, when she noticed a figure sitting away from the others, back to the rest of his or her people. She had seen a number of people left alone by their planet's destruction and subsequent relocation to one of the various ships, but none she'd seen had so completely detached from the small comfort of fellow survivors. She focused her mind toward the evacuee, for a quick sense of the cipher's mood; he or she might really be in need of help, or might just be taking a quiet moment.

Amid the extreme sadness, cluttered questions, deity-cursing and childish wonder that drifted through the room's mental landscape, she picked her way toward the 'space' occupied by her solitary subject. Finding nothing by simply 'listening,' she tried more actively probing—searching for some, any impression; its presence was very obscure.

Telepaths often use physical sensory metaphors to describe their mental experiences—describing residual presences as 'echoes,' secrets and deceptive thoughts as 'shadowy,' and the empathic 'chill' of hostile feelings. Once she located this one's space, she recoiled almost immediately from its invisible, intangible state. This contact burned.

* * *

On the bridge, Troi was in the middle of an update to the Captain and First Officer. She pointed to the ship schematic on the aft station monitor, noting, "We are centralizing the on-ship family re-unification efforts at this station. The other ships have a similar site, and while we're not publicizing matches between ships, we are noting them for transmission to the Refugee Commission on Tannon. We aren't expecting…"

Riker and Picard both looked up from the data streams to see why Troi had suddenly stopped. She was no longer looking at them or the computer, but instead down into space with a look of still confusion on her face. Her eyes raced, as if trying to locate or lock onto an invisible and fast-moving point.

"Counselor?" asked Picard, swapping a concerned glance with Riker. "Are you well?" She did not respond.

"Deanna?" said Riker, stepping forward.

She looked up at them both, wide-eyed. Riker noticed she wasn't breathing, and that her face and body were, in fact, tensing visibly as he watched. He grabbed her arms as she began to double over, lips curling into a silent scream. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she nearly toppled them both. Picard joined in to support her, as she stared frantically into Riker's eyes.

Riker, himself locked in the gaze, whispered through his clenched teeth, "Caid. She's hurting with Caid."

Picard stood back, surprised by Riker's diagnosis. While inexplicable, it was trustworthy. He called into the air, "Picard to Counselor Caid." The air did not respond. "Computer, locate Timin Caid."

"Counselor Caid is in Cargo Bay 3."

"Picard to Sickbay, prepare for emergency medical transport." Without waiting for acknowledgement, he barked to different air, "Computer, initiate site-to-site transport of Caid to Sickbay."

He turned back to Riker and Troi, to find Riker scooping the bluing Troi into his arms. They jogged the few steps to the waiting turbolift, and headed swiftly in search of aid and answers.

* * *

Concentrating on the now unmoving woman in his arms, Riker nearly stumbled over the anti-grav stretcher that was also approaching Sickbay. Had Picard not heard its subtle hum or caught its quiet glow in time, he too would have fallen across its occupant, his First Officer and ships' Counselor. Reacting quickly, however, he stopped himself and grabbed his burdened companion. The startled medic paused only a moment, before continuing with the stretcher's momentum, pushing it into Sickbay.

The command crew followed them in, and were themselves swarmed by blue-clad caregivers. Picard noted immediately that there were three clear foci of activity in the room. Amid the crowd of refugees undergoing treatment, teams of medics hovered around the bed onto which Riker gently placed Troi, over the central bed where Timin Caid's still form showed occasionally through the crowd, and around the bed nearest the door where a limp Vulcan was being lifted from the anti-grav gurney. Dr. Crusher headed the group scanning the visiting Betazoid, looking up long only enough to acknowledge the Vulcan arrival and register the third patient's presence.

Picard's attention was pulled back from his survey by a calm, but formidable voice nearby. "Commander, we'll take care of her, but we need you to give us some room to work. Commander!?" Nurse Ogawa held the oblivious Riker by the arm, as she tried to gently but firmly pull him away from Troi's side. She shot the Captain an entreaty for help, to which he responded quickly and smoothly.

"Number One," he said, taking Riker by the arm as well, "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Snapped to by the joint pressure and calls, Riker looked up, and back and forth between Ogawa and Picard. The nurse released his arm, and he allowed Picard to lead him gingerly away from the packed main room, into Crusher's slightly quieter office vestibule.

They stood silently for a moment as Riker continued to stare back toward Troi, and as Picard stared curiously and compassionately at him. "Will," he said, gently shaking his arm to get his attention, "They are doing everything they can for her. We need to concentrate on what happened to her, and Caid. And to Lieutenant T'Sem too it would seem." Hoping Riker would follow his lead into the stability of duty, Picard circled Crusher's desk and activated the terminal. "Let's see what they are finding." He tapped several commands to access real-time medical data, as Riker slowly focused on the task.

"The Betazoids show no initial signs of physical injury; the medical teams are concentrating on chemical and neural scans now. Lt. T'Sem is …dead." Picard's mouth sat open, his eyes wide. The break in his consistently polished demeanor was enough to break through to Riker entirely.

"Dead? How?"

Picard closed his mouth and swallowed hard. "Her heart…" He paused a moment before looking up to match Riker's inquisitive stare. "Has burst."

* * *

Scant hours later and light years toward the Expanse, Deanna Troi looked around Ten Forward, and sighed with relief. Most of the almost two-dozen telepaths on board the _Enterprise_ had taken the news quite well. Although no one was happy being confined to the ship's lounge indefinitely, even the handful of Vulcans could not argue with the need for precaution given the clear pattern of attack targeting tele-abled crew and passengers. She had even prepared for the "inefficiency" protests by arranging for portable terminals to be brought to the room, and for administrative and analytic duties to be assigned to each crewmember under protective custody. By order of the Captain, every living being on the ship with telepathy or related mental abilities was here.

Nearly every one, anyway. Caid remained in a near-death coma under the Chief Medical Officer's direct supervision. Dr. Selar had received special exception by Crusher's demand, who pointed out how understaffed she already was, and how she already had a telepath in Sickbay, albeit unconscious. With Security's already being posted there, and with both doctors promising to exercise extreme caution, Picard had relented.

With those two exceptions, however, only thirty minutes after gathering them all here to explain more fully, every person was busy in teams and/or at a terminal, working on some aspect of the ship's ever-more-complex mission. Satisfied that all the pressing logistical concerns were settled, at least for the time, she sat down at her own terminal.

Ten Forward had been the best location still available to hold the group. It was large enough for them all, plus a few of their personal belongings, with space enough for the extra terminals and temporary cots. The bar's replicators, and smiling hostess—herself part of the imposed quarantine—would provide for their physical and emotional needs. Even the view and social connotation of the space itself would diminish the reality of their being locked in behind force fields and other active security auto-measures. Having to pair up to venture across the hall to the restrooms might be inconvenient, but wasn't that bad considering. Troi smiled at thinking of the bathroom buddies' being able to sense—at least in theory—one another during these private moments.

 _Enough of that_ , she thought to herself, selecting this as a good time to return to her own long queue of responsibilities. She sipped her juice, called up the security summary reports for the previous shifts, and allowed herself to become absorbed in the general patterns of the incidents and accidents contained in them.

::Deanna:: spoke a voice she did not immediately acknowledge, engrossed in the nuances of a transcript—a hurried exchange between a Starfleet xeno-botanist doing medical triage and a 'Talphian man who'd managed to down several liters of a potent liquor before boarding the rescue shuttle. ::Deanna:: the voice repeated, more strongly this time.

"Yes," she said, without yet looking up from her screen. When there was no reply, she turned to face the direction from which the voice came. _But what direction had it come from?_ She looked about, and found no one standing near her. She rotated her chair, looking for anyone who might have called out her name from where they stood or sat; but no one was even looking at her. The only person in the room she would really expect to call her by her first name, Guinan, was talking busily to a crewwoman at the bar. Perplexed and beginning to presume that she was having auditory hallucinations, she turned back toward her pile of work, shaking her head to brush away the apparent daze.

::Deanna:: said the voice again—this time much stronger and more urgently. More attentive to it now, she realized that it didn't come from any direction, it sounded within and across her mind. Why was anyone bothering to contact her telepathically? She wasn't that far from anyone in the room. She prepared to send a more polite acknowledgement than she was feeling, but was cut off. ::Don't respond::

Irritated and confused, she simply stared ahead, motionless—not sure whether or not or how to proceed. _Whose voice is that?_ , she thought. Although telepathic 'voices' don't 'sound' exactly like their oral counterparts, they are infinitely more distinct; yet she couldn't recognize this one at all.

Across the room Lieutenant Commander Sokul, a galactecologist on loan from the _Inchcape_ , stood and walked toward her. _Sokul?_ But Vulcans are tactile telepaths, and normally couldn't initiate this kind of communication without touching her; and certainly wouldn't be so familiar as to use her first name regardless. He did not even make eye contact with her as he approached and continued past her, to consult with another team behind her. Who then?

 _This is so childish_ , she thought, _here of all places and now of all times_. She stood and was about to address the collected group, when her eyes met those of young Betazoid ensign sitting by himself in the far, front corner of the room. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and similarly nodded her back into her seat. She stood her ground for a moment, but sensed better of it. She stretched, as if to justify her standing, and gradually slid back into her chair—never taking her eyes off the young man for an instant.

He casually glanced around the room, picked up one of the PADDs he'd been working on, and approached her very nonchalantly. His face took on a look of indecision as he walked, and he hesitated noticeably as he drew nearer. "Excuse me, Counselor?" he said aloud as he finally reached her table.

Still staring, but unable not to play along, she replied flatly, "Yes, Ensign. What can I do for you?"

Fidgeting slightly in place, he indicated the PADD with his hand and explained, "I've got some information here that I'd like your opinion on. May I join you?" He nervously nodded to the chair beside her, almost blushing at the self-invitation.

Glancing about in wonder at what others in the room must be thinking of this bizarre drama, Troi saw that no one was paying them any attention whatsoever. Both relieved and alarmed that no one else had noticed their exchange, she gestured slowly toward the empty chair. "Of course, Ensign…" His uniform was the blue of sciences, and he looked vaguely familiar, but in that instant she couldn't recall his name.

He smiled graciously, and quickly took the offered seat. "Qosa. Thank you."

"Garin Qosa, from ship's Archives, of course. I apologize…"

"No need, Counselor. You're obviously very busy, and I'm supposed to go unnoticed." She blinked at the unusual statement, but he continued somberly after the briefest of effect pauses. "I need your help with a matter of great importance and delicacy." He closed his mouth, and continued without breaking eye contact. ::A matter of life or death. For all of us::

Uninterested in the quiet discussion between the counselor and the young officer, the other crew went about their various tasks, oblivious to the dark-eyed and –haired pair. The duo sat together, staring in silence, as he proceeded to share with her a story that brought to life some of her childhood's most mysterious and frightening figures.


	9. Chapter 9

"Captain, Commander, I have someone here you need to meet." Troi stood in the doorway to the Observation Lounge, arms hanging at her sides and hands clenched. Her voice bespoke an urgency and agitation that the two senior officers knew was reserved for only the most serious and dire circumstances. Looking up from the scattered desk terminals and PADDs, they saw a young crewman standing beside and slightly behind her. Almost out of sight down the corridor loomed two large Security officers.

Picard set down the PADD he was holding, and sat back in his chair—unsure whether the coming introduction would complicate or simplify the rat's nest of problems facing him and his ship. Behind him, the signature light trails of faster than light travel shown through the large windows. Their speedy passage over his shoulder was the only visible sign of the possibilities that raced through his mind.

Always the man of action, and well established as the gateway to the Commanding Officer, Riker gestured both guests to join them at the table. As Troi ushered the young man to sit nearest the Captain, Riker started the conversation. "It's Ensign Qosa, isn't it?"

The ensign settled into the big chair nervously, checking with Troi, who perched in the chair beside him, before answering. "Yes sir, Garin Qosa. From Ship's Archives." He looked again at Troi—whether for permission or other support, the others couldn't tell. "But… I'm not really."

Troi pre-empted the Captain's 'we-don't-have-time-for-games' look with a prologue of her own. "Ensign Qosa approached me with the story he is about to share with you. It is both difficult to believe and alarming; I would suggest that you hear him out before leaping to any conclusions." She looked both men in the eye, as the junior officer continued to fidget in his chair. "I believe that he is telling the truth, and know that he taking a considerable risk in telling us at all."

They nodded their uneasy understanding, and sat back to give the story space and consideration. Satisfied that the stage was adequately set, Troi turned to Qosa and issued encouragement in his direction via a smile and a pulse of positive emotion.

Qosa soaked in that affirmation, and took a shallow breath before beginning. He stared blankly at the tabletop, and spoke quickly. "I am not Betazoid; I am from a planet deep in what you call the Nihm's Expanse. Right now, we are heading toward my world, and our approach will not be well received by my people. The _Enterprise's_ presence puts its and their futures in jeopardy."

He looked up to see how his news had struck the others. Riker and Picard had astonished, but controlled expressions on their faces, and looked from Qosa to Troi for some corroboration of his brief sharing. She gazed back at them with a calm, but confirming grimace.

Picard broke the silence first, refusing to succumb to the rush of questions and protestations he felt like throwing out. The diplomat in him took over, and took the concerns in step. "Ensign, we're obviously going to need some additional information. Why don't we take this issue-by-issue? You aren't Betazoid?"

"No, sir."

Picard stared at him expressionless. Whether from impatience at the lack of forthcoming information or from indecision at what to ask next, he finally ordered haltingly, "Then please do share with us what it is you are."

The young man seemed to search for words as he elaborated. "I'm sorry, Captain. There is much I could say, and I should not be saying anything. I am trying to decide what it is necessary for you to know."

"Why don't you tell us everything, and let us decide…"

"My species is native to a planet deep in the Nihm's Expanse; we are advanced telepaths—stronger and with a wider range of mental abilities than Betazoids, and even than the Ullians. But being weaker of body than of mind, we have traditionally been extreme isolationists—keeping our existence very quiet, while reaching out telepathically to monitor the space and species around us. Through this exploration, we have become aware of many species, and a few, like the Betazoids, have become somewhat aware of our presence on the fringes of their minds.

Troi interjected to support his story. "Their fleeting and mysterious thought-presence has been incorporated into Betazoid myth, and are portrayed in children's' tales as mental monsters who lie in wait for Betazoid youth who overstep themselves telepathically. Parents actually frighten children into doing their mental training practices and other chores with threats that these unnamed televores will devour their minds if they're not good."

Qosa half-rolled his eyes at the embarrassing tales and continued. "More recently, we have engaged in covert, physical observation of the Federation and other races. The practice is highly controversial among my people, but has been allowed in limited cases as your Beta Quadrant has filled with space-faring species from whom it's becoming harder to hide. The argument is that the better we understand them, the better prepared we will be to keep them away. I am aboard this ship to observe and learn about your cultures."

Riker wasn't liking the explanation. "But why _Enterprise_? And why a starship at all? It's riskier than a planet or starbase, and the same information would be available at almost any Federation library."

"A single, stationary location does not provide the same contact possibilities as a mobile ship. Your ship in particular is the flagship, and has quite the reputation for interactions with a wide variety of species, locales and situations. We encountered it frequently in our preliminary research, and it is a quite popular posting request among cadets at the Academy."

"How is it that you are able to pass so easily as Betazoid," asked the Captain, giving no indication that any of the conversation surprised or particularly interested him. "Both at the Academy and here on _Enterprise_?"

Qosa sighed, clearly growing weary of the questioning. He looked to Troi who nodded him to continue, apparently confirming what she had already prepared him to expect. "As you can see, I'm physically very similar to Betazoids, and telepathic also, so it was a convenient cover…"

"But…?" Riker injected the question into the statement that had hinted at no such doubt.

"But?" repeated Qosa briskly. Riker's stare communicated that the question stood, whatever its source. "For example, despite what Betazoid children may believe about our diet, your science would consider me a sucrovore—a sugar eater," he added clearly for Riker's benefit, "as my metabolism is very high and requires high caloric sustenance."

"It also makes his body temperature quite high," added Troi. "I can feel a slight warmth even sitting next to him."

"Mr. Qosa, you said _you_ were placed aboard _this_ ship, and implied there have been other instances of 'observation' by your people?" Picard's tone was matter-of-fact; he was confirming his facts. "Are there others of your people in Starfleet?"

"I would suggest that we concentrate on the immediate concerns of your ship racing toward my planet."

"You didn't answer the question," growled Riker, losing patience with the immediate situation from his end.

"Do your people have a name, Mr. Qosa?" interrupted Picard benignly, still showing no signs of his opinions or feelings about the situation. Qosa and Riker both looked at him quizzically, each surprised at his apparent lack of concern with either's pressing issues.

The ship's counselor fired a look at her second-in-command, and placed a gentle hand on her fellow telepath's arm—quickly withdrawing it from the uncomfortable heat source.

"No," answered the young man, taking note of her intent. "Actually, it's not so much that we don't have a word for ourselves; we don't even have a language in which to have a word in the first place. We share ideas and emotions directly, as the actual experiences and not through the mediating signs of language. In fact, we haven't used any non-telepathic communication in eons; we consider verbal communication quite primitive and backward."

" _You_ seem to do fairly well at stooping to our level," Riker pointed our sarcastically.

"Like cave drawing in your society, my expertise in linguistic communication is not a particularly valuable skill for me at home, except for its unique qualification for placement among species that still rely on such archaic forms to facilitate their social structure and interactions." Realizing how patronizing he might sound, he attempted to ameliorate his negative evaluation. "My role as your ship's archivist has provided me a wonderful opportunity to gain a greater appreciation for your communication and cultures—however painstaking the review of such large quantities of symbolic records can be."

Still incredulous, Riker snapped again, "I'm sorry if full access to your surveillance data was taxing. If you had simply let us know your needs upfront, perhaps we could have provided forms better suited for your espionage."

"Commander," Qosa retorted sharply, "We can debate later the ethical double standards your Federation holds in regards to observing and being observed by other species." He turned to face Picard directly. "Right now our focus needs to be that you are barreling a large, powerful starship towards a highly xenophobic planet. There is already considerable division among my people on whether and how to address the inevitable contact with outsiders. Think of your past first contact disasters. Your sudden and angry appearance might be seen as a threat, and push that debate deep into a very hostile backlash."

He and Picard regarded one another momentarily, as Riker and Troi watched to see whether or which one might speak next to break the tangible tension.

Picard acted first. "Mr. Qosa, would you please step outside for a moment." He looked down into his assembled PADDs immediately, signaling to everyone that the request was non-negotiable.

The young man looked hurt at first, and then set his jaw as his expectation of their scorn was met. He glared at Troi as he pushed back from the table and walked stiffly toward the door. The Security guards stood alert as the doors open and then closed behind him, leaving the three officers alone with their thoughts.

Picard stood and walked to the large windows. Without looking back he asked for, "Thoughts?"

Riker turned immediately to Troi, "Deanna, are you sure he's telling the truth? That story seems a bit much…"

"Yes, I am. Normally, my opinions on whether or not someone is telling the truth are based on my impressions of whether or not they believe it to be true. In this case, though, he's actually shared experiences with me telepathically. Under the same difficulties as he had in expressing those experiences in words, I can only say that he is telling the truth, however difficult a truth it is for us to accept."

"But that means that we could be crawling with… with… whatever his people are! He wouldn't answer your question on that…" He looked to Picard as he pled his case. "And regardless of other places, and whatever his intentions, I'm not particularly pleased to know that we have alien imposters onboard, especially right now."

Troi smiled nervously, understanding the concern but trying to re-assure him through the difficulty of knowing experiences she couldn't describe. "Commander, I am not denying the problem his surveillance here poses us, but beyond the security breach itself, I don't think he poses any danger to us in any immediate or tangible way."

The Captain turned swiftly from the windows to address the pair. "Counselor in case you have forgotten, we've had two large-scale and unprovoked attacks on the people of Kedicatalphia and our rescue ships, both appearing to originate from an area he claims is inhabited by his people." He began pacing along the end of the table, assuming an almost Socratic lecture style as he continued his case. "Meanwhile, we have a string of telepathic murders and assaults on board. And now he, an admitted telepath from a highly xenophobic and apparently hostile species, comes forward to admit that he's been hiding onboard and spying on us.

"Commonsensically, Counselor, it would seem that he has both telepathic means and motive for the murders—namely protecting his cover from those most likely to sense his presence, and good reason to try dissuading us from investigating the apparent source of the intersystem attacks. It's entirely plausible that he is involved in it all and is trying to lead us off the scent." He concluded his accusation with his hands clenched on the seatback.

Troi's defense of her fellow telepath continued. "That is certainly possible, Captain. But then why would he expose himself when there was no indication that he was under any suspicion himself? He was actually grouped with the potential victims in Ten Forward! Rather than an opportunity to confess to me, that would seem the perfect time to disable us all if the telepaths were a threat to him or some larger plan."

Riker sided with the Captain's arguments, "Or, from another perspective, how convenient for him to come forward now that we begin to close in."

"Will, I'm not saying he's innocent of any deception here, quite the contrary as he's confessed, twice now. I'm simply advising you both that, regarding our response to the attacks here and on the planet, the anxiety and fear I sense from him are genuine and substantial. And they're not fears of us—he's frightened of what his people will do to him for exposing their presence, and what impact our incursion will have on his culture. He realizes we don't like that he's been here among us, but he feels that there are larger issues ongoing and he wants to help." She turned to face the Captain, entreatingly. "Given our dearth of clues and wealth of targets, I think we could use any assistance we're offered at this point."

Picard returned to his seat at the table, sizing up Troi's arguments as he moved. He glanced about at the scattered PADDs as if they would provide some answer or advice on how to proceed. Finding none, he opted to keep his options open. "I have to agree with Commander Riker that his posing as a Federation citizen and Starfleet officer is unacceptable, and that we must end whatever involvement or assistance he may have in the ongoing conflicts." He looked from Troi to Riker and back. "At the same time, his knowledge of the Nihm's Expanse aliens could be very useful."

"So, Counselor," he continued, shifting deeper into his seat. "I'm assigning him to you. You are to get as much information as possible from him about his people and what we can expect from them. And monitor him for any indication that he is working against us in any way—telepathic or otherwise." Troi nodded her obedience without expression. "We'll deal with the espionage issue later, and for now concentrate on our more pressing security concerns."

Picard turned toward the door, moving along the day's agenda. "Please come back in, Mr. Qosa."

The doors parted momentarily and the three became four in the large room. Qosa's face was calm but tense as he re-entered the Lounge; he glanced at each of them before fixing his gaze on Picard. Receiving no invitation to re-take his seat, he stood rigid and somewhat defiant just beside and behind Troi.

Picard let him stew for a moment before beginning. "Mr. Qosa, you claim to have no part in or knowledge of the attacks on the planet, the Fleet or the crew and passengers of this ship; Counselor Troi believes you are telling the truth. To the best of our actual knowledge at this point you have done nothing to implicate yourself in any such wrongdoing. Nonetheless, you are an admitted spy for an unknown state, have perpetuated a false identity for some unknown period of time, and have abilities and allegiance circumstantially linking you to several of our present threats.

"Under the best circumstances, your presence here would be disturbing. Considering the current situation and your connection to it, I feel it wise to err on the side of caution and must consider your presence a potential threat to the safety of the _Enterprise_ and the success of our mission.

"Therefore, effective immediately, I am stripping you of your commission and placing you under arrest for espionage. Your access to the systems and crew of this ship is ended, and after a thorough medical examination and interrogation, you will be confined to custody until this mission is complete. As you have suggested, we will deal with you once our more immediate concerns have been resolved."

Qosa stared at him coldly, not needing telepathy to judge the sincerity of Picard's intentions. "Captain, you realize that I could easily resist and retaliate for this, without lifting a finger."

Picard didn't hesitate to face the challenge. "Then I trust that your continued cooperation will exonerate you and your people from any suspicions we harbor against you."

The room was thick with mutual understanding.

"Counselor," continued the Captain, without looking away from the prisoner, "Please escort Mr. Qosa to Sickbay for a change of clothes and a complete scan for any information that may assist us in identifying any compatriots aboard. Have Mr. Worf assign him a two person escort, to include one tele-abled officer."

Troi stood and stepped beside Qosa, as he turned to head back toward the hallway, the waiting guards, and pending detention.

As they reached the door, Picard called out. "Mr. Qosa." The prisoner stopped, but did not turn; Troi paused beside him, angling slightly toward her commanding officer. "My priority here is to protect the 'Talphians and this ship from whomever may be threatening them, not to threaten you or your people if defense is not needed. Any additional information you have that could assist in that balance…"

Qosa walked out the door without any acknowledgement or response; Troi followed, leaving Picard and Riker alone at the large table.

Riker promptly outlined their to-do list. "I'll have Data and Geordi review the evacuee manifests and replicator records for any indications of other 'guests' who match Qosa's descriptions and medical profile. In the meanwhile, I think it prudent to restrict the sugar content of rations and to increase security sweeps to try and drive any others into the open."

"Agreed," nodded Picard. "But before you begin scans with the crew, let's do a quick check _of_ the crew. A plant among the passengers is one thing, another imposter among our ranks is quite another. In the meanwhile, I'll check whether our scans have discovered any evidence of that ship or this mystery planet."

With nods, they parted company to work on their common goals.

* * *

Qosa sat in a bland medical jumpsuit, glaring at Troi who sat facing him. His uniform and communicator had been taken from him, and either bagged as evidence or recycled into ship's stores, Troi wasn't sure. His displeasure was as evident to her and the medical staff as was the blinking wristband he wore—a transmitter that direct-linked him to a monitor being watched by at least one security officer in at least one compartment somewhere on the ship.

Crusher tapped a few keys on the wall console, changing the swash of lights over him as the scanning process continued. The display on the same wall changed wildly, catching her eyes. "Well, that is different. And that metabolism!" She turned to Troi, who seemed much less surprised. "I am amazed that little implant was able to fool our sensors so well for so long." She turned to her 'patient', picking up a tricorder and pointing it at his shoulder, fascinated. "Were the Betazoid readings it broadcast faked, recorded, what?"

Qosa sat silent and motionless, continuing to glare at Troi, who spoke directly back at him. "I think it would be best if you tell her aloud, yourself. I won't play go-between for you."

His visage darkened, but a glance at the subtle but solid security escorts melted the contempt to resignation. He sighed, looked down and softly explained. "The biochip translates my actual vital signs into the comparable Betazoid patterns. Our physiologies are similar enough that the formulae are rather basic, and the output sufficient to convince your scanners."

Crusher's face remarked at the medical tech miracle she was seeing; she was genuinely awed. "Well, let's just be glad that I never had to treat you or put you under the laser scalpel. Your differences are significant enough that I could have killed you trying to help." She glanced at the wall monitors again, learning quickly. "Speaking of which, what is a healthy blood sugar level for you? You're metabolic readings are fluctuating oddly."

"I am overdue for a meal; I hadn't intended my discussion with Counselor Troi in Ten Forward to lead to this prolonged detention and interrogation."

Crusher spoke to Troi, reminding everyone present that Qosa's decisions were not being made by him any longer. "I'm through with him for now; I'll need some time to review these readings and make a report to the Captain. Why don't you take him for some dinner?"

Troi stood, and the guards tensed in preparation for travel. Qosa slid off the biobed, and caught himself as he wobbled on his legs. "I would appreciate something now."

Crusher turned to a medical replicator, ordering from a recently discovered personal menu. "Computer, one glass of Qosa smoothie, number thirty-one. …To go."

The computer buzzed defiantly. "That selection currently restricted; please select again." Almost immediately, the in-ship comm chimed and the voice of the ship's chief of security filled the room. "Worf to Dr Crusher?"

Crusher rolled her eyes, and skipped the formalities. "Yes, Worf. I'm trying to keep our guest from slipping into a hypoglaucemic stupor. Will you please release the lock-out for this one order?"

"Understood, Doctor," came the response, without a bit of empathy. "Just checking."

The replicator chirped happily, the alcove shone brightly, and a tall mug of sickly, neon pink materialized, topped almost immediately by a lid and straw. Crusher handed it quickly to the pale telepath, who sipped at it eagerly. She and Troi noticed how the monitor readings began to adjust almost instantaneously.

Intrigued, Crusher moved to study this low-lag digestion, as Troi guided the happily slurping young former officer toward the door with escort in tow.

In the corridor, Troi headed the party toward the nearest turbolift stop. As they walked slowly, she smiled, amused. Her grin was enough to draw Qosa's attention away from his meal. "I'm pleased that my taking nourishment amuses you so, Counselor. I shall eat for your entertainment more often."

"I'm sorry," she chuckled, her glee fading gradually to concern. "Your… gusto is impressive. I hadn't realized to what degree we'd kept you from eating. I'm sorry."

"I do you a favor coming forward, you nearly starve me, and still your Captain fears me." The sarcasm was as thick as his shake.

"Put yourself in his shoes, Garin. In the midst of a planetary catastrophe, a starship is attacked and destroyed in front of your eyes, and a defined population on your ship is being targeted for murder. Your only clues point to a mysterious region of space, from which a member of your crew now claims to originate. I think you'd be a bit cautious too; he has every reason to be wary of you, your people, this area."

"He should be fearful," coldly stated Qosa, slurping the last of his meal. "None of my people will be happy to note this ship heading toward them, and I'd guess that some won't sit and wait for you to arrive to show their displeasure."

"We may not have to wait till then. For all we know, there may be other members of your species already aboard. Do you know of any?" Troi asked matter-of-factly.

"I know that Picard ordered you to work me for information; and I've already told you far more than you need to know."

Troi stopped and faced him. "That may be true, but you still haven't answered my question. Are you alone aboard the _Enterprise_?"

Qosa, stomachs full and growing tired of the relentless Q&A, acceded. "Yes, to the best of my knowledge, I am the only one of us here."

Troi met his gaze, searching for confirmation beyond his words. Finally comfortable with his sincerity, she smiled and resumed their walk along the corridor. "Good, because as best I can tell, you're much more concerned about your people's reactions than you are about ours."

The post-dining joy draining from his face, he called after her to burst her bubble of comfort, security guards lagging behind with him, "But I wouldn't necessarily know it, if they were trying to keep their presence from me!"

She continued to walk, and he hurried to catch up as she rounded the corner toward the turbolift.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mr. Gesnard?"

"Yes, Captain?" answered the loaned officer at the top of the Tactical horseshoe, looking up as Picard entered the bridge from his Ready Room.

"Anything on sensors?" asked Picard. He stood before his chair, and looked from the main viewscreen to the excitable ensign.

"No, sir. Still no ship, no planet, nothing. …I _would_ notify you if we found anything."

"Of course, Ensign. No worry." Picard straightened his duty jacket, and took his place at the Center of the ship's nerve center, tapping at his armrest-embedded console. "What's the status of the crew and passenger search?"

"Ninety-eight percent of the crew have been scanned," came the answer from above, along with the sound of rapid taps on the Tactical workstation. "There have been no replicator attempts, and almost sixty percent of the passengers have been scanned. The audit has discovered a few non-functioning identification pins among the evacuees; there may be others."

"Very well, thank you." Picard looked up to the Conn and Ops positions. "Anything of note at your station, Mr. Crusher?"

Wesley rotated to face the Captain. "No, sir. Though being back on the bridge is a nice change from triage duty, sir," he grinned.

"Good to have you back here too, Wesley." Picard allowed a slight smile before nodding the acting ensign back to his work. _Will was right_ , thought Picard to himself, _it's the little, familiar things in these extraordinary times…_

"Captain!" came the cry from above and behind him.

 _Crazy times…_ "Yes, Mr. Gesnard?"

"Sensors showing an unidentified vessel approaching quickly from starboard!"

Picard sat on the edge of his seat, as the rest of the bridge crew also tensed. "Red alert! Details?!"

"Warp signature… matches that of the attack ship from before! She appears to be adjusting to turn ahead of us, as if to run."

"Let's follow, Mr. Crusher! Ops, open a channel to them."

"Channel open."

" _Enterprise_ to alien vessel." Silence beyond the alarm klaxons in the background…

"No response."

"All bands… This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship _Enterprise_. Stand down from your flight, and respond. If you will not talk, we will stop you forcibly." He glanced at the Ops officer again.

"Still nothing."

"Wesley, move us into range, quickly."

The sculpted starship surged forward immediately, quickly making up the distance between it and the smaller ship, even as the forerunner sped in an escape attempt.

"Weapons range now, sir," said Wesley, relishing the adrenaline of the moment.

"Alien vessel, this is the _Enterprise_. You will get only one warning shot."

"Energy readings match those of the propulsion and weapons from the ship that attacked the _Isador_ ; twelve life signs aboard. Also, what appears to be planetary system is coming up on long range sensors ahead," added Gesnard from the rear of the bridge.

"Still no response, sir," from the front.

"Mr. Gesnard, one warning torpedo well ahead and above them, please."

Seconds later, a bright, miniature star burst forth from the neck of the ship and streaked ahead.

* * *

In the turbolift en route to a secured side room of Ten Forward, Qosa started visibly, causing the security guards to reach for their weapons. He turned to Troi, ashen. "I'm not alone."

* * *

On the viewer, the torpedo nearly blotted out the mystery ship as they hurried along similar flight trajectories. From this rear angle, the _Enterprise_ bridge wouldn't see the ship until the torpedo overtook and exploded above and beyond it harmlessly, yet still close enough to encourage a quick choice of cooperation among the alien vessel's crew.

Instead, the screen showed a bright explosion as the torpedo veered into rather than over the little ship, and both exploded in a sparkling fireball of antimatter, energy and debris.

Picard was on his feet instantly. "What the…!?" He whirled to face the awkward ensign at Tactical. "I ordered a warning shot!"

The ensign at Tactical looked anything but awkward; in fact, he seemed downright pleased. He glowered at Picard, assuring him that, "I am taking care of the problem."

Picard stared aghast at the destructive insolence, as the other members of the bridge crew gaped from their various stations. All eyes were on the smug, short officer at the tallest point on the Bridge.

He took them all in with a glance, reached under the workstation, and began firing on them with the emergency phaser that had been stored there.


	11. Chapter 11

"Security alert on the bridge!" shouted Picard as he dove under the command seats—seeking both cover from the phaser fire and the emergency phaser kept below his own regular place on the bridge. As shouts and a few phaser shots sounded above and around him, he popped the cover on the storage locker and reached in …to find the phaser's charging cradle empty. A wave of horror rushed through him, as his first, best option for defense had gone missing.

Remaining quiet and low despite the end to the sounds of struggle on the bridge, he turned to see how the officers at the front of the bridge had fared. Van Doren was slumped over the support strut at the Ops station, and to the right, the Conn station was empty. In quick succession, thoughts of "Wesley," "vaporize," and "regret" washed over him—before he noticed movement beyond the pilot's station, and a pair of large, young eyes staring at him from under the console. With a sigh of relief, Picard slowly turned his head to see whether he could see what was going on above and behind him on the bridge's upper level. He needn't have bothered.

"I am standing above you," came the embittered voice of the rogue officer from the _Inchcape_ , "with your own phaser pointed at you. All of your bridge crew is dead except you and the boy."

Picard glanced at Crusher, who glanced about the room from his cover, checking out the report by the gunman. After surveying the scene he could see, he looked back at Picard and nodded glumly.

"Now that you know I speak true, Picard, I would suggest you and Crusher step into the open so that we can continue our business. I will not harm either of you if you obey, but will disintegrate the boy and his station if you do not."

"My guess is you'll kill us anyway, so why should we make it any easier for you?" _Keep him talking…_

"Because I can kill you both now, immediately. Or you can slowly obey and stall until the security team you _think_ you called for can reach us." There was no hint of sarcasm in the voice, despite the obvious mock.

"Touché'," admitted the Captain, silently cursing that the attacker was already on to his stall tactic. "Wesley, I'm going to move out into the open. Once I'm there, I want you to slowly stand, but remain where you are. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," came the shaky but strong response.

Gears still turning to generate resistance options, Picard slowly rolled out from under the command seats until he was clear of them and could see Gesnard standing at the center of the Tactical horseshoe. With two phasers trained on him by the supposed fellow Frenchman, Picard stood slowly to full height, and straightened his jacket as an outward sign of his composure. "All right, Mr. Crusher." He watched one of Gesnard's armed arms shift slightly as the young man in gray emerged above the Conn console behind Picard. Behind the traitor, three uniformed bodies littered the floor—each perfectly still in what should have been incredibly uncomfortable positions.

Meanwhile, the turbolift opened, and out stepped an unfamiliar woman with dark hair and eyes, 'Talphian clothes and a grim grin on her pale face. Gesnard did not even acknowledge her, as he kept the phasers trained on the flabbergasted captain and ensign. She moved quickly across the rear of the bridge, and entered the deck's head—the set of restrooms located near the observation lounge corridor entrance. Seconds later, she emerged with a small, slim, simple box that she silently placed against the Engineering Bay along the back wall of the bridge. A flurry of lights played along one edge, before settling into a simple, repeating pattern as it hung there against the panel of displays and keypads.

As the woman turned to face them, Gesnard holstered one phaser, and tapped the Tactical keypad before him. "In addition to my cutting communications before you could alert anyone, that device will prevent your crew from seizing control away from us here while we have work to do."

"Who are you?" demanded Picard, unwilling to play along without some idea of what was going on. In less than five minutes they had managed to destroy the object of his search, kill most of his bridge crew and seize control of his ship. Beyond that sobering set of facts, he knew nothing. "What is the meaning of this attack?"

The woman stared at him, a slight smile breaking across her face. Gesnard remained expressionless as he stared at them as well. Picard noted that the two, though obviously working together, had not once spoken to or so much as looked at one another in any way.

Gesnard tapped a few commands before shouting out into the room, "Gesnard to Security; intruder alert on the…" Rather than finishing his sentence aloud, he fired his phaser at the Ops console. It exploded in a shower of smoke and sparks, sending Crusher and Picard diving for cover again.

As they stood again, the Ops console, missing a sizable piece of its faceplate, continued to spark and smoke as electrical bands crackled around it. The two conspirators seemed unfazed by the action, and continued to stare at the remaining two _Enterprise_ officers. Gesnard spoke for them, stating simply and in a much calmer voice, "We are defenders of the planet you have come to destroy…"

* * *

"…and we will see you destroyed first."

Riker and Worf jogged purposefully into Main Engineering as the ship-wide announcement echoed through the corridors. Data and LaForge were already managing a flurry of activity in the propulsion and power nerve center of the ship. The Executive Officer immediately took charge, "Geordi, what the hell's going on?"

"That's the question of the hour, Commander," quipped the engineer as he manipulated two interfaces simultaneously, multitasking against the web of problems and questions.

Riker fed more information into the problem-solving team. "Worf and I were at Security when the red alert sounded and right after that the comm went dead. The bridge is sealed off, and now there's this intruder alert from Ensign Gesnard on the bridge—cut off by phaser fire and that threat."

Continuing to monitor and issue commands into the status table at the Center of Engineering, the VISORed officer broke his own bad news. "We noticed the loss of the comm system too, and we've had a lock-out from the bridge. Whatever's going on up there has cut us out of the picture." He pushed away from the panel, exasperated. "I can't get any info into or out of the command systems; whoever's up there is firmly in control."

"Data?" asked Riker, hoping for some good news.

The android also reported in without looking away from the panel as his hands blurred across the input points. "The lock-out is not one of our security measures, sir. There appears to be a data filter, with sophisticated adaptive capabilities, that is acting like a one-way mirror or forcefield around the command systems. It is selectively allowing sensor data in and issuing orders outward, but only those it chooses. Our attempts to access data or attribute instructions are being rejected. I am attempting to circumvent it, but am unable to guarantee success."

Riker panned between his Chief Engineer and his Security Chief, activating contingencies they had planned in simulations but never before had to enact. "Geordi, lock-down all remaining systems you can, and get ready to start physically disconnecting others. We'll deny whoever this is everything we can. In the meanwhile, Worf, distribute radio transmitters to security and command staff, and get some monitoring equipment and raid teams up to Deck 2. Let's stay in touch, find out what we can and be ready to move. And find Counselor Troi and Qosa, and bring them here."

Worf nodded and headed off at a jog, as Riker continued finding and filling holes in their knowledge and plans. "Status on the rest of ship's systems?"

Geordi shook his head apologetically. "With the command lock-out most of our sensor read-outs are dead. Based on what we saw before they went out, I know that we went to red alert and that we fired at least one photon torpedo." He turned and gazed at the warp core, throbbing quietly in near idle the background. "Just by watching the core, we can tell that we've dropped out of warp; but whether we're sitting still or moving on impulse, I don't know. We can start manually checking the system components for activity, or we can have a look out a window…"

* * *

Gesnard gave the two men little time to dwell on what he and his companion intended, turning immediately to the next step in their still unknown plan. "Crusher, I am connecting your station to the main sensor feed of population and technology centers. Plot an orbital pattern for maximum weapons range coverage of these points. You will implement it as soon as we have reached the planet." He typed a few commands at the tactical console, and looked up to verify that the youth was complying.

Wesley made no move to take his seat or read the data. "I will not." He swallowed noticeably and glanced briefly toward Picard, but stood firm in his refusal.

The silent woman glided menacingly down the ramp toward him as her message reached him two-fold. Directly from her, he sensed waves of cold, almost tangibly sharp negativity. And through the apparent spokesman behind her, these raw emotions took linguistic form: "Disobedience is not an option."

Picard jumped into the arena, assuring both aliens, "Neither Mr. Crusher, nor myself, nor any member of my crew will assist you in causing more harm. We will die first."

Her attention shifted to the older human, as her vicarious message did as well. "Valiant species, but impatient for death. We did not expect you to volunteer; we are prepared to motivate you." She moved closer to him, though still clearly beyond his reach. "As long as you refuse or delay, we will kill your passengers—the poor people who have suffered so much already, and have no such suicidal sense of duty."

Picard refused to be extorted or exhorted so; he stared directly back at her, while speaking loud enough for her apparent interpreter to hear as well. "Defending your planet, eh? Gallant intentions from a person cowardly using the lives of others as bargaining pawns, while too afraid to say so herself." A wry smile broke across his face as he watched her react to the insult. "Is it guilt already that holds your tongue?"

Her face flushed and a seething blast of fiery pain slammed into Picard, tossing him to the ground beside Crusher. As Wesley helped the breathless captain stand, Gesnard explained. "It is enough that I have taken one of your labels and uttered your animal sounds; there is no need for her or others of our kind to be demeaned in that way."

The woman's visage calmed noticeably, while Gesnard's voice evidenced a growing irritation. "Meanwhile, you continue to stall, and it has cost you." The turncoat officer touched a control and added a waver to his voice. "Attention all hands, this is the bridge. Aliens from the Nihm's Expanse planet have taken control of the _Enterprise_ , and claim to have just killed ten 'Talphians at various points around the ship."

Picard rocked on his feet, intending to shout out in resistance over the open channel, but the woman shook her head ominously even as the thought entered his mind.

Gesnard continued without a pause, "They say we should all prepare ourselves for a similar fate unless the Starfleet aggressors leave the area." He cut the channel, and smiled at himself. He looked up to meet Picard's worried look. "Yes, Picard. The evacuee riots those deaths and that announcement instigated should keep your crew occupied for some time." He turned the phaser on Crusher. "Now take your seat, child, and plot the orbit I gave you."

The young man swallowed hard, and turned to his superior office for guidance. Picard was no more comfortable with the situation than the youth; he, did, however have years more experience with such discomfort. "Wesley," he ordered steadily, "Take your station and prepare to ease us into orbit around the planet."

Crusher looked at him quizzically for giving in to the hijackers' demands, but trusted the older man's knowing nod, and so obeyed. He plotted diligently at his station as the main viewer showed a dark planet gradually growing larger before them as they approached.

Even as he piloted, Picard continued to press the attackers for weaknesses and information. "If your people are strong telepaths, they'll sense we hold no ill will against them. We simply…"

"You assume we are telepaths, Picard," cut off the spokesman. "Isn't it possible we're simply much more efficient than your guttural species."

 _They don't realize there's another!_ The epiphany raced through his mind before he could hide it from them.

"Of course there are others aboard." The two mind readers immediately seized on his passing thought, and luckily interpreted it incorrectly. "And you graciously corralled them all into one space for us." The woman looked away for a moment, as if thinking of somewhere else. She turned back promptly as Gesnard announced, "I do not regret to inform you that your collection of telepaths is also now dead, for good measure." A few keystrokes later, Gesnard topped his callous obituary with an equally chilling confession. "And I have taken the liberty of transporting their bodies into the various evacuee habitats."

Wesley turned to face them all, another gulp and a look of horror etched on his face. Picard's jaw and fists flexed visibly, though he didn't move from where he stood.

In stark contrast, the female casually walked to the command chair and took a seat. Her amused look took voice through her colleague. "And as for what you will show our people, human, your ship is brimming with ill intent toward us. Your crew now knows that the planet's aliens have taken control and have killed a growing variety of the ships' inhabitants. The refugees see that the aliens are killing people, and that you're apparently doing nothing to stop it. Add that to everyone's stress over the planet's destruction and the evacuation itself, and your model crew's peaceful ideals are probably stretched so thin as to be invisible."

The woman leaned forward as Gesnard spoke, her body language ripe with menace. "What we are doing is simply enacting the hostile feelings of your crew and passengers against the inhabitants of this planet."

"Hostile feelings that you incited and are choosing to act upon! This attack is yours not ours."

The pair ignored him, continuing, "Although not using the words, we too have concepts of angry motive and technological means. The actions of your ship and emotions of your crew will spell out the situation clearly to our people. Our people will sense little but angry, violent wishes from your motley roster. And will react accordingly."

"Do you also have concepts of self-defense?! Even if your people are fooled by the illusion you've created by luring us here, provoking hostility and pulling the trigger for us, surely they will fight back. If you're as superior as you think yourselves, don't you expect that your government will destroy this ship to protect your planet?"

"We are counting on it," Gesnard admitted matter-of-factly.

Picard shivered in reaction to the sinister logic, and turned to face the sunless planet looming ever larger on the front wall.


	12. Chapter 12

"I want some answers, and I want them now!" Riker was right in the young man's face, who was himself pressed up against the unflinching Klingon. The small size of the repair shop around the corner from Main Engineering didn't add any comfort to the interaction.

Troi stepped in to mediate, turning the focus from degenerative hostility toward collaborative action. "May I remind you all that we have a common concern at the moment?" She pulled Qosa from between the two angry officers. "Commander, if you'd allow him the opportunity, I'm sure that Garin would be happy to assist us." She turned to the telepath with a very clear 'won't you' instruction on her face.

Looking from flaring-nostriled Klingon to flexing human, the until-recently crewman chose his words and picked his sides with obvious care. "This is not part of some conspiracy plan by my people. I told you we shun contact with outsiders; why would we seek out your ship, much less board and seize it?"

"That is the question, isn't it, Mr. Qosa? Since you're already here and now there are at least two more of your people in charge of the bridge, killing crew and passengers and making riot-provoking threats over the internal comm. system. They seem pretty clear on why they're here; the question here is how do we stop them?!" Riker paced the small space, furious with the overall situation and his only informant's lack of candor.

"You told Counselor Troi that there were no others of your species on board, and then suddenly changed your mind? As powerful a telepath as you claim to be, you certainly seemed to have overlooked a few fellows."

"Commander, your quiet mind may find this difficult to understand, but we telepaths don't have auto-detectors built into our heads." Qosa glared at Riker, matching his intensity if not his height. "There's no guarantee I will sense other telepaths, especially if they're trying not to be found."

Worf broke in. "You expect us to believe that they don't know you're here either? You may be communicating with them even now!"

The faux Betazoid whirled to face the Klingon squarely, when Troi took him again by the arm gently. She spoke to them all, with her best calming tone—intent on salvaging some constructive outcome for this conversation. "Mr. Qosa just indicated that the other telepaths took care not expose themselves as such until they were making their move on the bridge. If there was any contact between them until that point, it was done discreetly. Telepaths aren't necessarily obvious to others unless they employ their abilities, and when doing so can restrict their communication to a particular recipient, even among a roomful of other telepaths."

Qosa stepped in, to his own defense. Taking his cue from the empath, he remained adamant but was more calmly persuasive now. "Exactly; they had been very quiet in their communication, if any, right up until they took over. Since then, and especially since they killed off the other telepaths, they have been less secretive in their communications. The Counselor and I, and I would hope your Vulcan doctor and visiting counselor haven't done anything but passively sense them, so as not to give away our presences."

Himself calmer now, Riker seized on the tactical information he just been presented. "So you say that you're now able to eavesdrop on their mental conversation?"

"They still aren't 'broadcasting' per se, and they aren't actually holding what you would call conversations." Riker squinted and Worf growled at the pending pejorative reference to linguistic communication; but Qosa gave them no longer lecture. "But yes, with some concentration I can follow most of what they're communicating without alerting them."

"And they are communicating…?"

"They have incapacitated your bridge crew, plan to fire on our planet, and are arguing with your captain."

Worf smiled with satisfaction and pride, "Then we know that the Captain is resisting."

Troi cut to the chase. "Garin, they're firing on their own planet? Can you tell why? What's the goal here?"

He relaxed, and answered her plainly, almost regretfully. "I don't know. They are carrying out some pre-determined plan; they aren't really discussing the whole thing, just carrying it out bit by bit." He changed tone abruptly, to an almost meek, "May I please have something to eat? I am quickly growing hungry."

Riker gave no reaction, as Troi looked from Qosa to him. Her request for permission and her admonition to behave in her absence were simultaneous. Clear on both messages, Riker nodded, and she slipped past him and out the door to the nearest replicator.

Riker took a moment to consider his next step, before taking it—directly toward the smaller man. Qosa pressed himself against the bulkhead in an attempt to recreate the safer distance between them. Riker took no notice, and leaned in. "Worf and I don't trust you any farther than we can throw you. But we need your help right now, and Counselor Troi seems to believe you. So I'm only going to ask you once, will you help us regain control of the ship?"

Qosa looked from face to face, seeking counsel in his intuition and knowledge about each. Both the wrinkled brow of the First Officer and the ridged forehead of the Chief of Security were clear in intent and advice. "As my people react to the presence and attacks of your ship, our fates may be common. Calling for help to my people would only alert those on the bridge that I'm here, and they don't seem too keen on other telepaths…"

Worf stepped in closer as Riker raised his eyebrows, neither was happy with the roundabout monologue. If he was stalling for Troi's return…

As they seemed pressed for time, and he seemed pressed, he answered as directly as he could in words. "I will help you stop whatever's happening on the bridge, so that we can address the _Enterprise's_ incursion into our space."

The doors slid open and Troi entered with another to-go cup in hand. Without batting an eye, she squeezed past Riker and gave the meal to Qosa. "I followed every word of that exchange through him, Will. You should know better than to think I'd let the two of you alone with him," she chided gently.

Neither man was in any mood for fun. Riker jumped right into business, "Then I'm sure you'll have anticipated that Worf will be escorting you both to Deck Two to keep a 'mind' on our hijackers." He turned to Qosa. "You let me know everything, _everything_ that happens up there; she will be monitoring you," he said indicating Troi as watchdog. And finally, to Worf, "Keep me informed of anything of note he relates; and get ready to storm the bridge with full phaser sweeps."

Qosa slurped as Worf moved to escort him and Troi from the room, and added as they exited, "That won't do any good…"

* * *

On the bridge, Picard watched as Crusher prepared the orbital calculations for the looming planet, while Gesnard typed quietly at the tactical station and the woman stared at the viewscreen expressionless. Lacking any other activity, Picard turned his thoughts again to assessing their situation.

Wesley was obviously thinking the same thing. He turned in his seat, and addressed both aliens—not knowing at which he should be focus his questions. "I don't understand why you're doing this. What is it you're after? If you wanted to attack the _Enterprise_ , why not just take us out back at 'Talphia where you got the _Isador_? Why bring us all the way here to square off?!"

The alien pair stared back silently and impassively.

"Don't you see, Wesley, you've hit it exactly," Picard chuckled and shook his head, amused by some thought entirely his own and entirely out of line with the gravity of the current situation. Wesley looked up at him in astonishment, as the aliens turned their focus back to the Captain. The older man had the younger at an advantage in that he had more backstory on the current situation, but it was only now that all pieces had begun to fall into place.

He continued to smile at the private epiphany, even as he shared it with them all. "Everything that's happened so far has been a ruse to bring the _Enterprise_ here: The destruction of Pirim to bring us nearby. The attack on the _Isador_ to anger us. The fleeing ship to lure us into coming here. And the ship-board attacks along the way to create tension and to weed out telepaths who might expose them." He looked at the hijackers for some confirming reaction to his theory, but got none.

"But that still doesn't explain why you destroyed your own attack ship, why you're going through all this trouble to begin with, and why you've placed yourself at the center of the bullseye in the fight you're picking. It's clear you intend to orbitally bombard the planet, but again I'm left wondering why? What are you doing bringing us here to act against your planet?"

"'Better late than never,' Picard. Isn't that your saying?" condescended Gesnard rhetorically. Picard got the distinct impression he was mocking of his own accord, and not as the woman's mouthpiece. The next statements were less clear in their origin, as the woman shifted in her seat before he spoke. "You needn't worry with the why's; just trust that we know well what we are doing, and have no intention of being present when you and your ship meet your inevitable fate."

Having reached another threatening dead end in his interrogation, Picard stood beside Crusher at the Conn station, simply watching as Gesnard descended from the horseshoe for the first time. On the main level, he handed the woman a wrapped packet, which she opened and from which she took a bite.

Presuming that he'd smuggled these high-sucrose snacks before the replicators were locked down, Picard continued to fill in the pieces of the puzzle before him. Wesley continued to prepare the orbit, though Picard noted the intentional inefficiency with which the young man acted. _Good boy_ , he thought.

The woman looked up from her snack, and Gesnard whirled to face the musing, balding man. He pointed his phaser at the young pilot, and moved toward them with an unhappy look on his face. "Crusher, you are purposefully delaying our work; end your resistance at once."

Wesley took his hands from the console entirely, sensing his newly central location in the crosshairs. Without turning he glanced toward Picard for some guidance on what his next move should be.

Picard gave no indication of his thoughts to him or the telepathic pair, he simply leapt at Gesnard without warning—grazing his side enough to knock him off balance while snatching the second phaser from its belt holster and rolling toward the ramp banister.

The woman stood and recoiled, utterly surprised by the entirely spontaneous act. Wesley ran his fingers across his console, entering a series of commands as he slid down the seat to move under cover of the station. Gesnard reeled to the ground, struggling in vain to regain his footing and locate a target at which to fire with his remaining phaser.

Picard, himself acting on instinct, but still more prepared than the others, rolled smoothly up onto one knee and fired his phaser at the two terrorists in turn. Gesnard, his first target, stumbled back to the ground, losing what little progress he'd made in reacting. The woman also fell back again, onto the chair in which the ship's counselor typically sat.

Both glowed with the immense energies released against them; but in neither case did they collapse outright, burn visibly or vaporize entirely as Picard had expected. He checked the setting on the phaser, and found both the power cell and the output level to be near maximum on both scales. He looked up in astonishment and leveled the weapon for another round of shots.

Gesnard managed to get up onto his knees, only to be confronted by a glob of melted alloy at the end of his arm where the phaser had been; he howled in pain and cradled the glowing, molten mass covering his hand. Behind him, the woman carefully pried herself out of the form-fitting impressions she'd left on the seat and the console across which she'd fallen.

Surprised, but using any opportunity provided, Picard barked at Crusher, "Wesley! The lock-out device!" The acting ensign darted from his behind his shielding station and up the ramp behind the captain. Picard fired again, using longer shots this time, hoping for some more useful damage from the weapons.

Gesnard crumpled to the deck, his voice breaking as the pain overwhelmed his ability to express it; yet his body showed no sign of damage from the blasts—just the momentary glow of absorption and dispersal. The woman, conversely, stood upright as the beams flowed into her torso. As before, her entire body began to glow as the energy level obviously built up. Unlike before, however, she stretched out her arms, and a shower of that same energy poured out from her extended hands. The redirected power burned into the Captain's chair to her right, and the deck to her left—piercing, melting and evaporating them instead her. She began sweeping her arms forward.

Even as Picard stopped firing, she continued to sweep her arms forward—the energy burning across everything it touched as it moved—and narrowing an area between them in which were Crusher, Picard and the agonied Gesnard. Even as the slice of bridge between her arms diminished so too did the energy she released gradually lose its intensity, but not before the stream from her right arm caught Crusher as he approached the blinking box on the Engineering station. He was thrown against the back panel of controls, and slumped to the floor.

The woman brought her left arm around quickly, and directed it at Picard. The fading blast caught him with enough withering force to knock him against the bulkhead behind him and to make him lose his grip on the phaser.

Before it could hit the deck, however, its downward trajectory curved out and upward into the woman's waiting hand. Having released the last of the energy he'd fired on her, she was now free to catch the flying handgun in mid-flight. By the time Picard could shake off the impact and roll back to face her, the woman was pointing the weapon squarely at him. The two faced each other silently for a moment, before the gasps from the crumpled figure at the center of bridge were drowned by a growing, high-pitched tone also coming from his vicinity.

Recognizing the sound, Picard looked away from their contest first, to confirm his suspicion. He stood quickly, and took an awkward step toward Gesnard before the movement of the woman's phaser caught him up short. Her look dared him to move again.

He slowly put his hands up beside him to show his surrender, explaining, "The phaser in… on his hand. The power cell has been damaged and is overloading. If we don't deal with it, it will blow out the entire bridge."

She was not impressed. The whine continued to grow.

"We'll all be killed, you included. You might be able to withstand phaser fire, but I'll bet an explosion and the vacuum of space are a little more threatening to you. Besides, incapacitating the ship will probably stop whatever you have planned for it…"

That caught her attention. She lowered the phaser, perhaps allowing Picard to take some action. They both looked to the quieting form on the floor.

Gesnard, dazed and delirious from the pain of a melted hand, whimpered quietly to whomever was listening. "Please help me. Please." Sensing the new attention focused on him, he tilted his head toward her, pleading. "Help me, Larzan. I have served… well."

Picard looked to her, to see the first obvious reaction from her despite all the events that had transpired to that point. A blush passed over her face, though it became clear that it was from rage and not embarrassment. He watched in horror as she dealt deadly mercy to him in some form, for under her cold glance he twitched and shuddered, and then grew silent as life waned from him.

The shriek from the dying phaser in the dead hand, however, showed no sign of ending.

Noticing that Picard watched, the emotion drained from her face; and she stepped over the still body to the Conn station and tapped a quick series of commands. The crying weapon and silent body shimmered out of existence, leaving Picard and "Larzan" alone, alive and awake on the Bridge.

"Where have you beamed him?" demanded Picard, presuming correctly that they had been spared, but only at some others' expense.

As if in response, the bridge rocked underneath them, and the muffled sound of a large explosion rumbled up from the decks below. The woman clutched the conn station chair for support as Picard was tumbled into the ramp railing.


	13. Chapter 13

On Deck Two, the sound of the explosion echoed for measurable seconds as the smoke billowed throughout the deck and into Deck Three below through the newly created hole in the deck plating.

Riker coughed and blinked fiercely to clear his throat and eyes from the soot and afterimage that irritated him there. He thumbed his handheld radio, which he'd managed not to drop, as soon as he could speak, "Damage control and medical teams to Decks Two and Three immediately!"

He turned back toward the direction of the explosion as alarm klaxons and the shimmers of automatic force field activation echoed about him. Silhouetted by fiery glow, emergency lights and the sparks of mangled circuitry, Troi emerged from the smoky corridor. She crawled slowly, alongside Qosa—each covered in a patchwork of blood and soot. Together they dragged an unconscious security officer who was even more filthy and bloodied.

Riker rushed to help, pulling all three beyond a ventilation panel into which the bulk of the smoke was being drawn. Once into the clearer section of hallway, both Troi and Qosa collapsed, coughing.

Riker found a weak pulse on the unconscious security officer, as her colleagues from nearby breach and surveillance teams came trotting around the corner to assist with containment and care. Several, phaser rifles raised, picked their way gingerly beyond the injured party and advanced into the thinning smoke to secure the area and investigate the explosion's source. Several others, rifles slung over their shoulder, stopped to help with first response medkits they carried.

Lt Worf arrived a split-second later, having run around the deck's perimeter to reach them, "The explosion cut off our direct access across the deck. What happened?" Though directing the question at Worf and Troi, he glanced at them sparingly, his phaser in hand and his eyes instead scanning the corridor around and beyond them for further danger.

"A body in a Starfleet uniform appeared at the end of the hall, and we heard a sharp whine," gasped Troi. "Ensign Carmody must have recognized the sound because she began pushing us back this way. We were just rounding the corner when the explosion happened; she took the worst of it because she was behind us."

A rush of footsteps behind them prompted Worf to turn menacingly, placing himself squarely between his shipmates and the approaching crowd. The tall, red-haired officer in blue stopped short abruptly on turning the corner and finding a large, armed Klingon crouching in the center of her path. The two medical technicians in matching blue and the three engineers in self-contained environment suits piled up behind her, not expecting or understanding her quick deceleration. "What the hell happened?" demanded Crusher as she shook off her entourage, and surveyed the scene.

Satisfied that the onrush posed no threat, Worf stood up, lowered his phaser and turned to Riker. "I will check in with my team at the blast point." He slipped past the nodding Executive Officer, and headed down the hallway.

Not waiting on an answer to her question, the Chief Medical Officer waved her team into the space now vacated by the Chief of Security, leaving Riker to wave the damage control specialists past them all in the direction Worf had just gone. He stepped clear for both teams as they moved into action and his own radio clicked, "Data to Commander Riker?"

He stepped away from the injured crew and their caretakers, and responded, "Riker here…"

* * *

"…Go ahead, Data."

In Main Engineering, the multiple screens on the wall across from and on the situation table in front of Lt Commander Data swam with information. His fingers correspondingly blurred across the console top. Needing to keep those hands free for their work, the android had donned a voice-activated mic/earphone headpack. Around Engineering, several other crewmembers had also taken advantage of this less than state-of-the-art, but nonetheless effective hands-free communication set-up.

Like his ubiquitous hands, Data's face gave no indication of a change in focus as he typed through his conversation. "Commander, the blast appears to have loosened the alien data filter; I have regained intermittent access to some command systems."

The First Officer's excitement was controlled but clear. "What do you have?"

"My access is partial and inconsistent; the windows are apparently brief and random. However, I have been able to determine that bridge environmental controls have been set to a cooler-than-normal temperature, that a complex orbital pattern has been programmed into helm controls and that all weapons are armed."

He continued to work through the pause as Riker soaked up these new, but somehow unsurprising details. "Data, what about entering instructions? Can you give commands?"

"It would seem so, sir, to some degree. Most systems have responded to my information queries while I had access. However, I cannot determine whether my intrusions have been detected by the filter or those on the bridge."

"A risk we'll have take right now, Data. Keep trying to get around the lockouts without drawing too much attention to yourself, and make your first priority getting weapons back under our control. We're getting ready to do the same for the bridge itself."

"Aye, sir," stated Date calmly, his voice, face and actions never changing throughout the exchange. Now, however, a few indistinct keystrokes, and he called up and enlarged a data window in the center of his console. While continuing to manipulate others simultaneously, he focused a large percentage of his attention on the screen labeled "Offensive Systems."

* * *

"Sir, the blast apparently disrupted the dampening field in place around the bridge. Tricorder readings show one alien lifesign and two human; we cannot determine…" Worf's voice softened immediately, glancing at Dr Crusher, who bent over Troi and Qosa further down the corridor. "…which two. Our other crew have either been moved, or killed. It would seem that the body was that of one alien."

"But Troi said that the body was in a Starfleet uniform."

"I am unable to explain that fact, but have instructed my staff to collect organic residue samples at the blast point; we can attempt to confirm the identity of the victim genetically. Or perhaps the transporter logs?"

"Geordi and Data have gotten through to some systems, but I think transporter controls and records are still restricted to us." Riker glanced back at Crusher and the wounded. "We're running out of time. My guess is that planet out the bow windows is the end of our ride. We need to get onto the bridge and back into control before that happens. Are your breach teams in place?"

"Scattered a bit by the blast, but all here, sir," assured Worf without his usual confidence.

"I'm sensing another 'but'?" asked Riker curtly.

"But, I am not sure how useful a direct attack will be against these targets: They have demonstrated an uncanny knowledge of our systems and how to prepare for them. We have disconnected our phaser rifles from the ship's security grid in case they have activated a no-fire zone since taking over. However, even if we can shoot the remaining hijacker, our informant tells us that his species is virtually impervious to phaser fire."

Riker gestured in the direction of the explosion's center, "Well something seems to have taken down one on the bridge… They may be able to re-channel the beam waveforms, but with a physiology so kin to Betazoids, they can't be entirely immune to the sheer volume of energy. Go with maximum settings; even if it doesn't kill them, it may slow them down."

Worf nodded, and moved to make final preparations, while Riker walked back to his non-technological link to the ship's command center. Under his breath, hot with anger and heavy with the smell of burned plastics, metals and flesh, he cursed the entire situation. He noted that Troi was bruised but active, wrapping her own arm in field dressing. He guessed the injuries went beyond scratches, but that Deanna refused anything more than the minimum treatment to keep her on scene; her largely shredded uniform, however, would have to be retired. Beside her, leaning on his side against the corridor wall, was Qosa—a deep grimace on his face as the doctor ran a dermal regenerator repeatedly across his back.

Riker knelt on one knee beside Troi, who gave him a re-assuring nod that she was in fact holding up. Both their gazes shifted quickly to the prisoner-come-patient as he groaned and shuddered.

"Doctor?" asked Riker.

"Will, I'm trying to treat a patient whose physiology is a little unfamiliar." She switched to a different instrument with one hand, while supporting him and holding a chiming medical tricorder with the other. His eyes fluttered as he ground his teeth, while she worked and explained. "He's burning up, is some type of hemophiliac, and I'm having trouble stopping the blood flow. If I can't stop it soon, he'll pass out from oxygen loss as he bleeds and bakes to death."

Qosa's eyes flew open suddenly, and fixed onto Troi, as his face alternated pale and flushed.

"Tri-ox," stated Troi, matter-of-factly, her eyes locked to those of her fellow telepath.

Riker looked between them, surprised; Crusher squinted at Troi, puzzled, "That will stave off oxygen loss in general, but not if he keeps losing blood…"

"My breath wasted on speaking," said Troi urgently.

Beverly joined Will in his look of confusion.

Deanna continued, breaking her stare at Qosa, to glance quickly at her colleagues, "He's communicating through me to conserve breath, oxygen." She looked back to him immediately, closing the discussion and re-connecting with him as Crusher prepared the requested hypospray. "My pain second. But soon will stop me from blocking out emotions on ship. Terror. Helplessness. Frustration. Hostility. ANGER…"

His head rolled to one side as he slipped away for a split second. Crusher caught him gently from behind, pressing the injector expertly into his temple. As she rocked him awake again, hissing at the pain of even brief direct contact with his skin, Troi turned to Riker to report quickly: "We're both sensing an incredible amount of negative energy boiling on the ship—the alien, the crew, the refugees—it all blends together. But he's a stronger, more sensitive telepath by far, and is being battered by it; the feelings are building and he's growing weaker."

Riker had little time and bigger problems. He stood, leaving orders with those on the floor, "Doctor, sedate him or throw him in stasis for now." Crusher nodded, concerned for the young man, but having a youth of her own still in danger who needed their fuller attention. "Deanna, you're now our eavesdropper on the hijacker…"

"No…!" groaned Troi and Qosa together. Tears streamed down Troi's cheeks as they joined hands, cementing a connection already between them.

"Deanna, we don't have time for this," commanded Riker, prioritizing progress over recovery.

"No, Will… He needs my help to maintain his telepathic control. Without it, he will slip, project his own or others' pain, and expose us both to his person on the bridge or his people on the planet." Troi sobbed as she tightened her grip on Qosa's arms despite the pain she imported from him, felt through him and suffered at his burning hands. "She'll kill us both, and they'll kill us all…"

Riker looked stunned—at both her refusal and her redefinition of the situation. Crusher, too, gaped at Troi's vehemence, but for a slightly different reason. As the ship's Executive Officer stepped back toward them, its Chief Medical Officer intervened. "Deanna, you said 'she's' on the bridge… How do you know the hijacker's a 'she'?"

Troi relaxed a little and turned back to face Crusher.

"I don't know," sniffed Troi, herself a little surprised by her knowledge. She looked back at Qosa, purposefully re-establishing their direct telepathic link. "He knows it. Has access to…" Her eyes brightened without veering a millimeter. "He's reading the Captain's thoughts!"


	14. Chapter 14

A deck above, Picard noticed that the still dark, but now clearly clouded planet was coming back into view on the main screen, before he could question, protest or otherwise react. She had realized that Wesley had turned the ship away. He was about to renew his interrogation of her, when he also noticed several bright flashes moving from the bottom of the screen deeper into the holographic image, as a series of photon torpedoes dove beneath the clouds toward the planet.

Veins bulging at his temples with contempt, he instinctually took a step toward the Conn console, to terminate the auto-targeting and firing sequence she had obviously just initiated; but her armed presence to one side of that same station stopped him in his tracks.

Needing to do something and knowing that he needed to keep the pressure on her, he pushed on. "So, it's Larzan, is it? So much for being above linguistic labels."

She gave no indication that she heard or understood him.

"I know you can understand my primitive communication-you have followed our discussions so far, and you can read the control panels enough to operate them."

She flashed an angry glare his way, smarting at the insult he was paying her, but not wishing to give him the satisfaction of reacting to it.

"I'm guessing, Larzan, that you wanted him to die," accused Picard through lips drawn tight and eyes squinted with anger, even as he walked slowly up the ramp and knelt beside the unconscious Wesley. "That was your plan all along: sacrificing him, and those people on the attack ship. You're eliminating witnesses to this set up, while creating eventual martyrs for whatever cause you're fighting?" He felt a pulse at the young man's neck—a good sign, and gently moved him into a more comfortable and healthy position.

The smallish woman watched but said nothing as she brushed and straightened her clothing, her composure never showing the disarray reflected in her robes.

Picard continued picking at loose threads in the story, hoping that one would finally start its unraveling. "So, I'm guessing that the plan is for this ship to be destroyed as well. But I still don't understand what purpose it serves to kill all these people, and harass your own."

She stared at him silently, a calm anger settling back across her.

"Fine. You don't have to speak; I can keep guessing until I figure it out." Increasing his non-verbal and vocal pressure on her, he moved slowly back down the starboard bridge ramp, stopping down it just enough to be nearer her, without giving up the additional height advantage it provided over her. Looking at and down on her, he crossed his arms pensively and continued. "My ship's being here and firing on your planet obviously serves to further your interests somehow…"

Pleased that he had stepped away from the tactical controls, but unwilling to grace his challenging move toward her, she reached out a hand and the discarded sugar ration flew from the ground to her. She casually ate as if he and his soliloquy were absent.

 _Lots of sugar, plenty of spice, and absolutely none of everything nice is this little one made of_ , he thought"Vengeance? The planetary scale is a bit much for such petty motivation. Conquest? No, your targeting pattern is too global to be against one or even a few geopolitical factions. Ransom, perhaps? But you haven't transmitted any demands. Not that I know of, anyway…" He shook his head in bewilderment. "What then, beyond sheer insanity could drive you to this pointless destruction?"

She looked up at the last accusation, having finished the wafers in the packet. Glowering at him in dismissal, she glanced back at the viewscreen behind her as another set of dazzling red sparks filed down toward the planet. The shattered Ops console to her left crackled as if providing soundtrack to the weapons discharge shown in large scale on the front wall.

"Unless…" pushed Picard, not moving from his vantage point, but noting her every move. "Unless, it's some combination of them all? Perhaps you or your associates have something to gain politically from a little destruction and terror? Some concession… or accession to demand or be given because of our supposed off-world aggression?"

The viewscreen image jumped slightly, and another three torpedoes sped planetward just as the previous ones had done. Her head snapped up at the monitor, a wave of confusion and anger sweeping over her entire body as she tapped vigorously at the Conn station.

Picard slapped his fist into his palm, pointing and shouting at her. "That's it! You're using us in some form of coup d'état, aren't you? Toppling some government for allowing us this close and for not preventing these attacks, and installing yourself in its place—perhaps as the savior who arrived just in time to defend your planet against the foreign invader?"

She looked back at him briefly and then through him, before her panicked eyes glanced up and around as if probing a space or sphere beyond the dimly lit bridge itself.

"LARZAN!" screamed Picard, desperate to play on her increasing agitation, though she was ignoring him utterly. _If I can only push her far enough…_ he thought as he felt the rage bristling up around her. The hairs on the back of his head and neck stood on end, and goosebumps dimpled his arms as waves of raw anger washed out from her. "I will not be a pawn in your power play…"

She raised one hand to clutch her chest and the other as if to focus some of her seething wrath upon him. He tensed against the expected virtual blow. Or perhaps protect herself from him? With another flicker of the viewscreen, the sciences station behind him suddenly exploded outward toward them in a violent shower of light, sound and rubble.

Carried forward by the shockwave, Picard managed to use one primed leg to steer his flight toward bridge center and directly into the stunned hijacker. As shards of polyduranide sheeting, chunks of transparent aluminum and clouds of sparks flew about them, his forward and her backward momentum carried their tangled bodies against the freshly erupting Ops station.

Picard grunted at the force of their impact across the chair and panel, cushioned only by her slight presence between him and the damaged terminal. With the first sounds to utter from her lips since her arrival on the planet below, the ship overall and the bridge specifically, the previously mute alien released a raspy shriek. Its sudden appearance and sheer power startled the captain.

Instinctively, he pushed off her, falling back onto the deck between the forward stations and shaking his head to clear his eyes, ears and head from the flight, landing and cry.

Atop the Ops panel, Larzan continued to scream and began to convulse as ribbons of blue, white and orange electricity lashed about her. Her limbs flailed in spasms not unlike the hopping bands of energy that enveloped her like a tortuous gown. Her overwhelmed body glowed to match and mirror the power coursing roughly through her. Yet she managed to sweep her eyes over Picard as he watched. Unable to share the fate directly with him, with some last reserve of focused thought and emotion, she poured the feeling of it entirely into him.

His fingers and toes burned, and his vision mottled as his mind received the agony occurring just a meter from him. His chest seared and ached, and he tried to clutch some relief there, but the muscles in his hands and arms reacted to other, unintended commands. His breath rushed and ceased as the artificial impulses alternated through his systems, sending gasps and groans to join hers in the acrid atmosphere of the bridge.

Competing with their mixed, anguished cries in his ears and mind was the continuing flash and crackle of other damaged stations around the bridge. Among them, Picard could just make out the confident and distinctively non-mechanical sound of clambering feet behind him. Finding some small relief in the exercise of curiosity, he turned to see dark shapes emerging from the gaping hole in the bridge's back wall. The shadowed forms moved silently in unison to spread out low along the horseshoe console, red beams lancing through the smoky room.

As pains from every fiber of his body began to burn out his awareness of them, a single, four-letter word marched across the dissipating focus of his mind and crushed what little hope he had held to this point. _BORG._


	15. Chapter 15

Picard became aware of a low hum around him at the same time that his eyes fluttered open and then shut again against the bright lights shining on him. His memories sharpened, connecting with the ambient setting and the swarming shapes he had last seen, and his mind repeated its last warning, _BORG!_

Yet he had been among them several times before; he had been one once. And these scant first moments of consciousness felt nothing like any of his experiences with the Collective. His mind, still sharpening faster than his physical senses, clicked to another possibility for this blinding post-trauma scenario: _Q!_

Q had first introduced the _Enterprise_ to the Borg, and would take great pleasure to gloat at their success in overtaking the beleaguered Frenchman. _Shall I be made to relive again some adolescent mistake for the pleasure of this rogue member of the Continuum? Will he seek my admission of helplessness and my begging for his help? Has this all been some next test for the species through my crew and me?_

A flutter of fiery red flashed across the edge of his clearing vision, and he felt something take hold of his right arm. As his body continued to check in, he realized that he was lying on his back and that, except his arms, he was covered from the shoulders down. Every point across his almost two meter frame also reported aching, tingling and outright pain.

Meanwhile, to the gentle hum in the background, his ears began to add other sounds that gradually became words, "Happen… Sun loot…" He turned his eyes in the direction of the words, the same direction where the white light blended with bright red and darker colors. "Cabin? Shown look…" He felt a second pressure on his arm, and both contact points calmly stroked as a pair of bright eyes focused in the midst of red hair, atop a blue torso, and the voice spoke with soothing familiarity, "Captain? Jean-Luc?"

He blinked several times, and his lips made some effort to smile though he wasn't sure how successful they were. The reaction on Beverly Crusher's face made it clear, however, that he had given some appropriate response because she smiled back, stroked his arm again, and looked across him to presences he was suddenly aware of on his left.

There, a large shape of red and black focused into his grim but grinning First Officer. Pleased for his part at the sight, the Captain proceeded to business. "Status report, Number One."

"We stormed the bridge a little more than an hour ago, sir, recovering you and Wesley, and retaking control of the ship. We believe all the hijackers have been killed, and are sitting at Yellow Alert in orbit over the Nihm's Expanse planet now, conducting damage assessment and repairs. Given the damage, we've shifted command to the Battle Bridge for the time being, where Worf is trying to communicate with the planet."

"The refugees…?"

"We're very short on care personnel, Captain. With the situation worsening for a time, and a need to reduce the anger and anxiety on the ship during the confrontation, I ordered the release of a low level aerosol sedative into the refugee areas." Crusher bristled opposite him. "…Over Doctor Crusher's objections. They're artificially mellow at the moment."

"Bit extreme…" Picard managed to rasp as he struggled to find his voice and strength.

"I know, sir, but their emotions alongside our crew under duress were presenting a significant agitation to the telepaths on the planet through Mr. Qosa. If we didn't diminish the animosity levels on the _Enterprise_ , that hostility and our hijacker's three photon torpedoes would have only kept provoking the aliens."

Picard looked puzzled in addition to pained. "I saw more than three launched."

Sensing the storytelling between the two senior officers was going to continue until the past hours had been exhaustively recounted, and knowing that trying to prevent it was useless, Crusher took her leave. "Commander, the Captain will need his rest, so not too long." She patted Picard's arm, "Wheeze if you need anything…."

Riker nodded and returned to his smug smile. "You and she saw a video loop that Mr. Data introduced once he'd begun regaining access to the bridge systems after the phaser blast. We managed to lock down the weapons systems after the first salvo, and got viewer control in time to feed her what she seemed to want to see."

Remembering pieces of the last minutes on the bridge, Picard nodded and recalled, "She did seem agitated during the later barrages. And the screen did jump a bit; I thought it was systems disruptions…" He cast his XO a bemused look for having been fooled, and a proud one for the creative success.

Riker beamed back on behalf of the other officers, and then switched gears to asking questions rather than answering. "What about on your end? Wesley's out, but will recover. The breach team said they found you on the floor, and the hijacker literally burning away on the Ops station console…"

"The blast knocked us into it; it had been damaged. She was stuck, and was projecting the experience onto me. _Hound of the Baskerville_ -style, she intended to take me down with her."

"Dr. Crusher believes that it was the erratic nature of the electrical currents. These aliens' bodies are resistant to the phased beams of our weapons, but the sheer volume of power coming out of that station in bolts, not beams, was probably just too much. She literally vaporized as the teams swept in…"

Picard shifted on the biobed, a function of the continuing aches across his body, and of a sudden realization just as sharp. "Why haven't we been vaporized? The Nihm's aliens must know we're here and that we've fired on them?"

Riker shook his head. "Of course. As soon as we regained communication, we began transmitting apologies and explanations, but we've had absolutely no response from the planet. Passive scans show a significant population scattered across three quasi-continents, but they're either unable or unwilling to receive and understand our 'primitive' hails."

"What light does our imposter have to shed on the situation?"

Riker looked up and across Sickbay as he answered. "He hasn't said anything in a while; he's in some sort of coma or trance, injured in the phaser blast on Deck Two. He'd been communicating through Counselor Troi, but she's fallen silent and they're still telepathically locked together." He concern for her was apparent in his voice and posture.

Picard tried to follow his gaze, but could not twist far enough to see beyond the medical practitioners and patients crowding the room.

* * *

Across the room, Troi sat beside a floating antigrav gurney, on which the unconscious Qosa lay face down, nutrient gel covering his raw and scarred back. She held his hand, staring blankly forward at the alcove wall as he stared blankly down at the floor through the bipedal head port on the gurney. Neither moved or reacted as the visible portions of the EM-stimulation emitters played across his back and reflected along her face. Only that dance of colors demonstrated any life or activity at all, as it had for many long minutes unchanged…

…Until the embedded monitors on the bed and nearby equipment suddenly began beeping and blinking wildly. Nurse Ogawa was first to react, surveying the readouts and recognizing both encouraging and alarming readings. "Dr. Crusher," she called as she began typing instructions into the instruments attached to the young man.

Troi's eyes fluttered, and she rolled forward, caught quickly by Riker, who had also reacted to the alarms. He placed her gently back into the chair, looking up toward the medical staff swarming around the prostrate telepath, who abruptly, instantly and completely disappeared. Some monitors fell blank and silent with his vanishing, having nothing left to measure, while others screamed all the louder for the sudden change in and loss of patient information.

Riker, Crusher and Ogawa blinked in unison at this latest twist, until training took over and they set about silencing alarms, analyzing the readings and caring for other patients. Crusher stabbed at alarms without looking at them, demanding, "What the hell just happened?" Riker tapped his communicator and asked the same thing of the bridge.

"Neither internal nor external sensors recorded any anomalous energy readings," reported the ship's Chief of Security and current bridge officer. "We're running a diagnostic to make sure it is not a holdover from the systems hijacking. The Quartermaster's office does report a simultaneous drop in ship's total mass equal to that of Qosa. He is no longer aboard."

Riker looked up at Crusher, neither satisfied with that lack of explanation. He glanced across at Picard, who had managed to pull himself up on one arm, attempting to see what had happened. He looked down to Troi, who seem to be waking, groggily.

There was much explaining to be done.


	16. Chapter 16

Six hours later, the _Enterprise_ still hung in orbit above the icy planet, still mollifying refugees, making repairs and attempting reparations. Shields and weapons powered down to clearly indicate non-violent intentions, she bombarded the planet only with multi-lingual and multi-channel apologies, greetings and requests for additional contact in order to make amends.

Recovery continuing, the senior officers of the vessel gathered in the Observation Lounge for the first time since heading into this last adventure. Only the captain wore the casual clothing of a patient still on the mend, though all wore the familiar fatigue of another hard fought victory over adversity. Counting the costs of the past few days, everyone at the table wished this debriefing felt more like a success. Each officer's catalog of loss and status added to their bittersweet reunion: systems damaged, crew and guest dead and injured, and lingering concerns over significant loose threads.

Picard sat back in his seat at the table's head, taking in the words and their weight silently. When the circle had come round to him, he sat forward and thoughtfully laid his clasped hands before him on the equally reflective table. "As Dr. Crusher has continuing concerns about my artificial heart and consequential overall fitness, I remain off of active duty. Commander Riker, therefore, will continue overseeing your extraordinary recovery efforts."

Confident in her assessment and ability to stand behind it, Crusher gave no reaction to his implicit irritation at being kept on the sicklist.

Also too professional to make more of it, Picard continued without waiting, or even looking, for her non-existent reaction. "In consultation with him, however, I have been in contact with Starfleet Command to update them on the situation, and seek advise on how best to proceed from here—given both our own status aboard and with the planet, and the larger circumstance of the planetary evacuation."

Crusher's eyebrows did jump in unsurprised irritation at this, his creative involvement in affairs, without technically breaking her removal from duty order. _Only Jean-Luc…,_ she thought.

Catching the satisfying if subtle acknowledgement on her face, he proceeded with the less than happy results of his contrivance. "We may remain another few hours, making additional repairs and final attempts to establish contact with the planet. Failing the latter, we will push off at eighteen hundred hours, and make best speed to Tannon to rejoin the evacuation."

A mix of relief at this next constructive step in the rescue operation swept the room, followed by an aftertaste of dissatisfaction with the silent planet and hijacker mystery.

"Believing that any physical attempt to engage the planet, whether by direct descent or even by leaving a comm-relay satellite, could be seen as further hostility, we will simply announce our wishes for constructive contact and depart. We'll leave quarantine buoys outside the Expanse, and Starfleet will dispatch other contact ships when we can spare them at a later date. We'll remain on guard for further attacks from the Expanse in case we've misunderstood and haven't seen the end of the mischief from this area."

As expected, the more than a century's collective experience gathered at the table was not at all pleased at the lack of resolution in that plan. These officers were not accustomed to leaving questions or crimes to later times or other crews.

Picard knew the reaction would not improve with the next layer of inactivity. "And, while the hijacking and this new species cannot be hidden, Command feels that it _is_ important _not_ to let word of Ensign Qosa's connection to the planet become known. In the current state of galactic politics, knowledge of an infiltration of Starfleet ranks on some unknown scale could create a panic within and beyond the Federation, while simultaneously tipping our hand as Internal Affairs seeks out any other Nihm's aliens among us."

Worf chimed in as well, "It would also provide a starting point for others wishing to make unauthorized attempts to return to and contact the planet. They would have a name with which to start."

"Except that Qosa's name was a sort of alias, meaningless to his people. They don't use names; it's beneath them," reminded Riker.

Crusher questioned, "But Captain, you said that one hijacker called the other 'Larzan.' And Deanna's reported that Counselor Bergin had sensed the name "Lauren" when the troubles began within the evacuation fleet. Even Gesnard and Qosa's Starfleet personae aside, their leader didn't need one, but had a name too."

Picard shrugged with his hands, supposing that, "Perhaps she needed some label for when her operatives communicated with or about her. Or perhaps her languageless unity with her people was not as complete as her silence suggested. Or it may have just been that Mr. Qosa was not as truthful or complete in his sharing as we had believed. Unless the planet responds to our hails and apologies, we may never know."

"So how is Garin being treated in the official records?" quietly interjected Troi from down the table. She continued to stare at the tabletop, appearing as though she'd simply thought aloud rather than intentionally joined the discussion. Nonetheless knowing that everyone had turned to her, she looked up at Picard directly, punctuating her question with a hint of accusation.

Riker again answered, though his words did not break the eye contact between the captain and counselor. "For the foreseeable future, Ensign Qosa will be listed as a casualty of this incident alongside our other personnel." His voiced softened in conciliation and respectful admission, "He did fall defending this ship."

Picard turned himself more directly toward Troi, his eyes softening beyond their weariness. "Counselor, on Qosa's surrender to us, we could not spare any more effort than a basic security sweep of his quarters, which turned up nothing. I wondered whether you would be willing to gather his belongings for… return to any remaining family on Betazed?"

Even with the change in tone and cock of head on that last phrase, for the benefit of the formal record, Troi knew that the captain meant something much more sympathetic than the implied investigation. Perhaps his own meld with Ambassador Sarek had made him uniquely understanding of the lingering bond she would now share with the telepath to whom she had been linked. Or perhaps he, as her friend and superior officer, knew her, as friend and officer, well enough to surmise her persisting connection. Whatever his insight or motivation, she appreciated the right of first refusal on this post-mortem disposition of possessions.

As she nodded gratefully, Riker, still officially the commanding officer, made the final announcement. "Since we've got a lot to do during this next leg of the journey, and respecting the 'Talphians' more fundamental losses, we will delay our shipboard memorial for our fallen shipmates until with have delivered our guests to Tannon. Please spread the word quietly through your departments, and begin making preparations for any area-specific observances your staff will make.

"In the meanwhile, we'll keep our eyes and ears open for any other issues or information. Barring any 'developments', we'll resume our evacuation duties shortly. Full incident debriefing at a later time. Dismissed."

The group broke up as silently as it had gathered, still very much in the midst of unsavory circumstances. A few pats on the shoulders and encouraging smiles, and the five junior officers had returned to their work, leaving only the Captain and Commanding Officer in the presence of the planet spinning slowly across the windowed walls and ceiling.

Riker spun back to his mentor, suggesting, "Sir, realizing that you're not officially on duty, I'd like a few minutes, if I could, to make sure we're both in agreement in our analysis of the initial reports."

Picard nodded, stepped slowly to the replicator and requested a hot drink for the both of them. He returned to the table as Riker scrolled through the various PADDs before him. "In trying to wrap up the summaries and analyses, I've gotten everything _except_ the likely answers to the obvious questions the Admirals and Intelligence folks are bound to ask."

"Such as?" asked Picard, half-heartedly, sipping his tea.

"Such as… how it was that none of our telepaths, nor Qosa, nor potentially any of the unknown numbers of powerful telepaths on the surface didn't know that this Larzan was here and behind it all? As powerful as she was, how did she get by everyone, or think she could, and potentially frame us for her actions?"

"Didn't Troi say that Larzan was minimizing her 'telepathic signature,' and masking her presence amidst the mental chaos on the ship? Perhaps the degree of emotional distress on the ship, and at first even the physical distance from the planet itself helped her remain unnoticed. However she did it, it was obviously important that she not be discovered; she killed on an increasingly wide scale to prevent it."

"But Deanna was clear that the people on the planet did find out about it." Switching displays, Riker quoted from another section of the report. "'And Qosa, similarly not wanting to expose himself or Counselor Troi and apparently not able or willing to take her on directly, simply channeled her actions and intentions to the planet. Using Counselor Troi's familiarity with Captain Picard, the telepathically bonded pair tapped the Captain's mind passively, and were able to broadcast his experiences to the planet's population or leaders. Whomever was receiving that thoughtstream virtually experienced everything that happened on the bridge after the first phaser explosion.'"

Picard nodded across his cup and saucer, paused by his thoughts halfway between the table and his mouth. "So, Counselor Troi believes they understood; that they heard enough to understand what was happening and stepped in to stop her." He set down the tea set, leaned forward and looked Riker in the eyes, his signature half-smile of pleasurable insight adding a sudden energy to his exhausted features. "Larzan clutched her chest, protecting her heart. Just after the viewscreen loop started, she looked panicked and clutched her chest. I though it was my pressuring and provoking her, but it was her own people; they were doing to her exactly what she'd done to so many others."

The beard hid none of the Executive Officer's mixed reaction that conclusion. "I don't know whether to be more concerned that it wasn't you who saved the day, or that this species seems to have that kind of lethal power."

"The power needn't only be lethal, Will. They may have taken back our archivist in order to save him…"

"Then you agree with Troi that the Nihm's people also took Qosa?"

Picard glanced across several PADDs between them before locating the one containing Troi's statements. "She says of her time in Sickbay with him, 'I was there with him, sending our experience toward the planet: replays of the destruction on 'Talphia and the deaths here on board, memories of the Captain's situation on the bridge and his deductions of Larzan's intentions toward the ship and planet. But once she was gone, we seemed stuck, like a communicator with a channel jammed open but nothing to transmit. Then, he just disconnected and was gone.'"

"Do you think they pulled the plug, or did he just give out?"

Picard pursed his lips, looking out at the planet and back at his First Officer, still thinking aloud in what would be a rejuvenating expenditure of energy. "We don't know how these people actually die; the only confirmed deaths we know were by phaser overload explosion and high energy disintegration. Even without having seen a non-violent version of their life's ending, I rather doubt that they simply wink out suddenly."

He thumbed to a subsequent section, quoting, "'I have no sense of him now, though there is a significant presence—a collective one—on the planet. But he as an individual is lost in the whole.' Troi didn't feel him end just blend in, and I must wonder whether they didn't learn from and through him that we meant no harm. Perhaps they brought him home somehow, and his testimony has spared us from any further action from them, even though our ship torpedoed them."

Riker's face grew grimmer, as if lending its energy to his superior. "They still could do something, sir; we're nursing our wounds in their backyard." He headed off the reminder he knew would come, "I know this show of non-force is exactly what we need to do now, to exonerate ourselves; that's why I ordered us to hang on here. But for all these questions, we may never know. About any of this, as long as they won't respond to our hails."

"We have many more questions now than answers, Will, that's true. Why she wanted to frame the Federation for an attack on her own planet? Why she was willing to sacrifice the entire Kedicatalphian civilization to do so? And what will their reaction be to it all?"

"Too many unanswered questions, if you ask me, sir," confided the Executive Officer, pushing back in his chair as if overfull yet unfulfilled from a large meal.

Picard nodded in agreement at the open-ended assessment, adding, "But, as is often the case for us explorers, at least we know to ask the questions, and to be looking for the eventual answers. If Qosa or Larzan are any example, I would hate to have met these people in numbers entirely unawares. Foretold is forewarned…." He smiled nervously, and led both their gazes out to possibilities of the dark, cold world below them.


	17. Epilogue

"Thank you, Ari," said Troi, "I'll let you know if I have any questions." She dropped her gentle grip from his arm, and added her professional smile of concern as part of her send-off. "And, please do feel free to come and see me if you need to talk."

The quiet young officer in red nodded, and stepped out through the sliding door, leaving Troi alone in the quarters for two. She looked about the none-too-spacious cabin. Even with the throbbing hum of thousands of minds filling the ship around her, this space was too neat, too silent, too still for a space assigned as a shared home for a pair of young, active people.

Having had the absent Qosa's side of the room and closet pointed out by his roommate, Troi moved to the wardrobe and began gathering his personal items, gently laying them out on the bed for later boxing or placing them in the satchel she had brought to deliver to Fleet intelligence for further study.

It had been some time since she had actually been the officer to collect the belongings of a crewmember who would not be returning to them. Not having a staff of her own per se, the Counselor had no direct reports to lose, and therefore typically avoided this solemn responsibility of department heads and divisional commanding officers. In her career, of course, she had provided emotional support for too many officers who had collectively lost too many personnel.

She could better empathize with them now, of the hurt, loss, pride and conflict involved in this final rite. After all, Starfleet's mission was about seeking out, exploring and finding. But too often, as this exercise evidenced, that pursuit was also about losing. Losing battles. Losing the moral high ground. Losing people. Risk and loss were unappealing yet unavoidable drawbacks to this line of duty.

The closet held a few duty uniforms, formal and casual. To one side there were also several civilian outfits, appropriately contemporary for Betazed. All part of his illusion.

That's what it had been, after all. He had created an illusion; in fact, he had _been_ one. He wasn't really a Betazoid, or an archivist, or an oral communicator, or even a Starfleet officer. Yet he had posed as each and all, pretending to share the goals and purposes of the _Enterprise_ and her crew.

From over his dresser, she took down his Starfleet Academy diploma, his certificate of commission and the framed static image prints of friends he'd had and sites he'd seen.

But despite these papers saying otherwise, Ensign Garin Qosa didn't exist. He never really had; these documents would prove forgeries. And yet, he had been on board for some period of time as a part of the crew, and most recently as a partner in their latest salvation. She'd reviewed his personnel file upon his assignment to the ship, co-signed on at least one career prospect report the month before, and even laughed aloud at one of his postings on the intraship Betazoid discussion board. For someone who didn't exist, he had certainly fooled her.

On his desk were a stack of inventory and indexing PADDs, brought home to work on after his final shift like a good, up and coming officer.

Or to copy and/or transmit as part of his surveillance, she reminded herself. For his performance had been to hide a covert espionage operation. What harm had he done to her, the ship, the Federation through his access to the archival scope of the ship's libraries and remote links? Had he helped make possible the decimation of the 'Talphian people? Or the murder of the Starfleet crew who came to their aid? Of her fellow counselors and college friend? Denama. Nicholas. Timin. To their other professional credentials, she could now add "KIA."

Opening his desk as those names opened wounds afresh inside her, she choked back a sad laugh when she found all the drawers brimming with candies and chocolate. She slumped into the chair, caught between the smile and the sob competing for expression. _He certainly had a full set of sweet teeth,_ she thought.

She also realized with this discovery that, despite their link in the last hours, she had not gotten to know him in much more than medical detail. He'd shared nothing personal in their bond, nor had he sought anything too intimately of her; their connection had been a survival tactic. And yet, very much in keeping with his people's emphasis on sharing directly, rather than through words and other symbols, she had gotten a good sense of and grown to like him as a person; they could not help but take away some core impressions of one another after so powerful, and direct, a shared experience. _A chocoholic, a telepath—with an honest admission to the Fleet, he might have been in my circle of colleagues and friends._ Though not a real officer, his last acts at least were certainly worthy of the uniform and certificates they shared.

Now he, and her other colleagues, and many others were gone. Each lost in the noble service of finding, learning and defending. Those goals were not illusions, nor were any of the peoples' fates imaginary.

She helped herself to a stick of chocolate, obliged to indulge in that sweet salute to truth, its seekers and its followers, and she wept openly for them all. Each sugary bite mixed with salty tears, and a familiar warmth spread through her, born of confection and catharsis as the past several days and several thousand souls broke through her.

And in that raw moment and mix, she also became aware of a tangible comfort that came not from anything she chewed or carried with her. This pacific presence came from outside her, the room and even the _Enterprise_ ; it came from the planet now pulling away behind the ship. Not through words, but rather images and emotions, she came to know some of the death and damage they had inflicted on that lonely world, a heated conflict on how to respond, a tide of understanding that her people were not responsible and a strong desire for separation and solitude.

She understood that she could now report some closure from the Nihm's Expanse aliens, however unfortunate and isolationist.

Within that chorus consensus, she also felt a hope from one among them that they might connect again, perhaps over chocolate. Knowing words were inappropriate and inadequate, accepting that many questions would have to wait for their answers, and respecting the requested distance, she simply hoped he might perceive the heartfelt and tongue-tasted appreciation she radiated.

Laughing through her tears, she unwrapped another chocolate bar knowing with what gift she would suggest that eventual contact begin.

* * *

On command, the mighty starship rolled to starboard and vanished slingshot into the distance, again on course to the distant cluster of planets, boldly going as always, in service to questions.


	18. References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given the story's length and level of detail, including numerous original characters mentioned, here's a quick guide to ships, crewmembers and other references from the story.

_**USS**_ _ **Enterprise**_ _(_ _Galaxy_ class)  
Ops: Mr Goodwin; Lt. Van Doren  
Shuttle Operations Officer: Lt Commander Tamish Hohtbé'  
Quartermaster: Lt. T'Sem (Vulcan)  
Archives: Ensign Garin Qosa  
command: Lt Walsh  
Security: Ensign Carmody

 _ **USS**_ _ **Gessick**_ _(_ _Constellation_ class)  
Counselor: Timin Caid (Betazoid)

 _ **USS**_ _ **Inchcape**_ _(Miranda_ class)  
CO: Captain Alexandra Delmas  
XO: Commander Massoud Salee  
Conn: Lt. Khet Nguyen  
Ops: Ensign Jacques Gesnard  
Chief Engineer: Peter Gray Oak  
Counselor: Dr Nicholas Bergin  
Tactical: Erik Smith  
Science: Lt Commander Ilurr (Deltan)  
Galactecologist: Lt Commander Sokul (Vulcan)

 _ **USS**_ _ **Isador**_ _(Excelsior_ class)  
CO: Fleet Captain Movar Ranca (Caitian)  
Counselor: Denama Ongnoi (Alpha Centauri)  
 _ **  
USS**_ _ **Latting**_ _(Nebula_ class)  
CO: Captain Att Klom (Tellarite)  
Counselor: Cannon Garse (Betazoid)  
shuttles (named for Earth mountain ranges): _Andes_

Other References

  * **artificial heart** – implant Picard received after a bar fight early in his career (ST:TNG 6.15, _Tapestry_ )
  * **Bareazi II** – an unpopulated and inhospitable planet many light years from the Pirim System
  * **Flotter and Trevis** – popular children's holostory characters. (ST:VOY 5.99, _Once_ _Upon_ _a_ _Time_ )
  * **Kedicatalphia** – inhabited planet in the Pirim System
  * **Kona freighter**
  * **Lauren/Larzan** – a dissident leader in Nihm's Expanse
  * **Martian Lines** passenger cruisers
  * **mindmeld** of Captain Picard with Ambassador Sarek (ST:TNG 3.70, _Sarek_ )
  * **Nihm's Expanse** – large region of low stellar density, and therefore unexplored, space, not far beyond the Pirim System, in the Beta Quadrant
  * **Pirim** – star (and therefore name) of Kedicatalphia's solar system in the Beta Quadrant
  * **protomatter** – a highly unstable substance which can be combined with tekasite and trilithium to create a weapon capable of destroying a sun and thus obliterating everything in the accompanying solar system. Post-detonation, it is no longer detectable. (DS9 5.112, _By_ _Inferno_ _'_ _s_ _Light_ )
  * **Tannon** – a Kedicatalphian colony, three days high warp travel from the home system
  * **tekasite** \- substance which can be combined with protomatter and trilithium to create a weapon capable of destroying a sun and thus obliterating everything in the accompanying solar system (DS9 5.112, _By_ _Inferno_ _'_ _s_ _Light_ )
  * **trilithium** – a fusion-inhibiting substance which can be combined with protomatter and tekasite to create a weapon capable of destroying a sun and thus obliterating everything in the accompanying solar system ( _ST:_ _Generations_ and DS9 5.112, _By_ _Inferno_ _'_ _s_ _Light_ )
  * **tri-ox** – an injectable medicine used to re-oxygenate blood (first seen in ST:TOS 2.1, _Amok_ _Time_ )
  * **Ullians** – a race of highly telepathic beings (ST:TNG 5.111, _Violations_ )
  * _**USS**_ ** _Biko_** – Starfleet vessel that assisted in the Kedicatalphian evacuation. NCC 50331, _Oberth_ class.
  * _**USS**_ ** _Kearsarge_** – Starfleet vessel that assisted in the Kedicatalphian evacuation. NCC 57566, _Challenger_ class.
  * _**USS**_ ** _Maryland_** – Starfleet vessel that assisted in the Kedicatalphian evacuation. NCC 45109, _Renaissance_ class cruiser. Will later go missing in the Gamma Quadrant, perhaps at the hands of the Dominion. (DS9 5.14, _In Purgatory's Shadow_ )
  * _**USS**_ ** _Wellington_** – Starfleet vessel that assisted in the Kedicatalphian evacuation. NCC 28473, _Niagra_ class.




End file.
